


The Witch's Son

by LivSWS



Series: The Witch's Son [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood, Demons, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Paranormal, Rotating POV, Royalty, Smut, Supernatural Elements, This is not your average fairytale, Witchcraft, Witches, medieval (ish) setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 207,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivSWS/pseuds/LivSWS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean's mother leaves Trost to treat the victims of the plague in the capital, he is left completely alone to take care of her shop.<br/>With his powers growing stronger and encounters with mythical creatures becoming more frequent, Jean takes on an apprentice, a curious customer whom he has never seen before, despite his distinct features.<br/>As Jean teaches his apprentice the ways of witchcraft, whilst battling creatures of the dark in his free time, he begins to realise the real threat of the darkness that has quietly hidden in the shadows all this time.<br/>But when the shadows start to threaten Jean's very reasons for existing, he must do everything in his power to protect the one he loves and himself before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Issue With Gremlins

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very nervous about this. I really hope you like it and I'll update as much as I can!
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com)

I fucking hate gremlins.

They're ugly. They smell. They're fast. They have claws that could gouge your eyes out with one swish. Oh, and they feed off human flesh. They're my least favourite kind of mythical creature.

This one is no different. If anything it's an even bigger pain. I was gone for five fucking minutes and, lucky me, I got to come back to find my crystal display knocked over, my cat missing (he probably ran away) and a fucking gremlin hunched over on the counter eating my lunch. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get meat at the moment? And this fucking gremlin was just helping himself.

Like I said, I fucking hate gremlins.

My name is Jean Kirschtein. I am the son of the Trost witch and I'm one too. Not a very good one, but I'm still a witch. Yes, I know what you're thinking, "But, wait. You're a boy. How are you a witch?" Congratulations, give yourself a medal, you realised that I'm of the male species. Well, turns out there are such things as male witches after all. Well, there's one: me.

Trost is the second largest city in this kingdom, under the capital, Jinae. It's a city filled with death, sickness, sin (not that I can say anything), poverty and piss-heads (again, I can't say anything). Trust me, it's a truly disgusting place and I'm honestly ashamed to say that I have to call this shit-hole my home, but I've lived here all my life and it doesn't look like I'm escaping any time soon.

In the meantime, I'm cramped up in my mother's shop/home until I take over her position as "head witch", if you like. I don't really do much here, except help out customers (usually hormonal teenage girls asking for love spells), feed my cat, practice my... privileges and slay the odd mythical creature that decides to be a pain in the ass... like this fucking gremlin.

Everyone knows about my mother and me. Every city has its local witch. Trost is just lucky enough to have two.

I'm messing with you: Trost is really unlucky to have me around. I'm the kind of person who you're either terrified of because I could easily turn you into a toad (I'm kidding. I only tell people that so they'll leave me alone) or accept that I'm there and avoid me.

In summary, I'm an unsociable male witch-in-training that kicks monsters' asses and heals the odd person if I like them (again, I'm kidding, I have no choice in who I heal and don't heal).

Now, back to the gremlin. It's sitting on the counter at the front of my shop, glaring at me with its orange eyes, a perfectly good and now wasted strip of bacon hanging out of its mouth. I'm watching from the other end of the shop - that is way too small to be fighting gremlins in - anticipating its next move. If it would ever make one.

I take a step forward. The gremlin bares its razor sharp fangs at me, letting off a low growl. I raise my hands to let it know that I don't mean any harm... yet. The gremlin takes another look at the remains of my lunch.

Don't you fucking dare.

It's long, black tongue runs along the last strip, almost as if it was taunting me.

It's working.

Picking the bacon up with its claws, the gremlin swallows the last of my lunch.

It dared. It went there. Now I'm pissed.

I take another step forwards, frantically looking around me for some kind of weapon. I soon come to the conclusion that I should probably keep a knife on me at all times. I've had two gremlins come storming into my shop in the last month and I still haven't learnt my lesson.

I consider my options:

Option number one: Run away and let mother deal with it when she returns from the capital.

Option number two: Run into the kitchen and grab a knife and hope that it doesn't chase after me and rip my face off.

I notice something glint out of the corner of my eye. I take another look at the gremlin, who is still looking at me like I'm dinner. As if the bacon wasn't enough. It may have been small, but it could eat a horse in seconds.

I notice the glint again. If this is what I think it is, then I'm saved. I quickly turn my head to look at the shelf on my left. Much to my relief, a ritual knife is lying there. I breathe a sigh of relief. The gremlin's pointed ears perk up as it hears my loud breathing. I know I have to be quick about this. I suck in a breath and grab the knife. It's not as sharp as I'd hoped, but it'll do. The gremlin shrieks at me. Ignoring its cries, I edge closer to it. I'm only a few feet away from it now and it's still screaming. I need to let it come towards me. It's screams are getting louder and it's giving me a fucking headache.

"Shut the fuck up!"

I gulp, realising what I just did. The gremlin straightens up and snarls at me. It breath smells of rotting flesh. Not surprising really. Then it pounces on me. I yelp and fall backwards, narrowly missing the bookcase. The knife flies out of my hand, skidding along the wooden floor until it's out of my reach.

The gremlin's on top of me. I manage to keep it at arm's length, but holy shit, this thing's strong. I need to get to the knife. The gremlin's snarling at me, struggling against my arms that are pushing it as far away from my face as possible.

The smell really is horrific.

Using my legs to push, I scoot towards the knife. The gremlin is still kicking and clawing at me, growling and shrieking. I'm in arms reach of the knife, only to realise that I can't actually grab it without letting go of the snarling gremlin. If I do it quickly though, I might just about make it.

I quickly retract one of my hands away from the gremlin and reach for the knife. I grab onto the hilt and slam my eyes shut, holding the knife in front of my face in hope that the gremlin falls onto it. The gremlin emits a horrifying wail. I wait to either die or live.

But there's nothing. I feel nothing.

Holy shit, I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.

I open my eyes in hope to see fluffy clouds and angels playing harps. Instead, a woman with big brown eyes and glasses is staring down at me, grinning like a psychopath. I scream.

"Jeanny!" she shrills. As I get over the shock of not being dead, I realise that the psychotic woman is in fact my aunt Hanji.

Aunt Hanji isn't actually my biological aunt. She's my mother's best and closest friend. They've known each other for years and Hanji is a witch like her, but my mother is slightly more qualified. Hanji comes over quite often, even though she lives in Jinae. I'm so used to her coming over now that I just call her my aunt. She's pretty pleased about that and often tells me that I'm her favourite nephew. I'm her only "nephew".

Although Hanji is loud, over enthusiastic about everything, slightly annoying, too happy for her own good and reckless, I do love her. She's the only family I have apart from my mother and Gumbie.

I calm myself down and haul myself up, the remains of the gremlin sliding off my chest. I notice a knife that is not my own sticking out of its back.

"How are you?" Hanji grins.

I can't believe this woman. "I nearly died and you're asking me how I am?"

She laughs. "Be nice to me, Jeanny. I just saved your life." Hanji starts to pick up some of the bottles of ointment that the gremlin had knocked over and places them back on the shelf.

"Thanks," I mumble. I begin to help her put the crystal display back. She picks up a quartz and places it in wrong place on the shelf. I move it slightly to the left and she giggles at me.

"So fussy, Jean. Just like your mother."

"If you're here to see her then she's not here right now. She's in-"

"Jinae. I know," she cuts me off. "I'm actually here to see you." She picks up a few more crystals and places every single one on the shelf wrong. I give up on trying to set them right. She'll only tease me for it.

"What about?"

Hanji makes her way towards the counter and sits down on the stool behind it, offering for me to sit on the other. I oblige and take the seat next to her. "Your mother won't be returning to Trost for a while, Jean."

"Why?"

Hanji puts her hand over mine. "She's been asked to stay by the king."

"What would the king want with her?" I spit. I can tell already that this isn't going to be good. Hanji has a look in her eyes that's more serious than usual.

"There's been an outbreak of the plague in Jinae."

This can't be possible.

"It has become immune to the remedies I have been providing. That's why the king sent for your mother. So she can find a new cure. She didn't know how long she'd be in Jinae, but the king has asked her to stay, so she told me to come and tell you."

"So she could be gone for months?" I ask.

"If that's what it takes," Hanji nods.

"Will the plague spread to here?"

"If your mother doesn't manage to control it somehow, then probably."

Last time the plague broke out, it killed hundreds of thousands of people. It was a slow and painful death. First you'd start throwing up. You wouldn't be able to stomach any food whatsoever. You'd slowly waste away. The disease would slowly rot you from the inside out, making you weak and bedridden. In your dying moments, all you could do was cough up blood and pus and just wait for your death. The worst part was that there were no tell-tale signs that you even had the plague, until it was too late to cure you. My mother, Hanji and all the other witches of the kingdom had managed to conjure up a vaccination for everyone that hadn't already been killed. Now the vaccination isn't working. This is much more serious than just a disease.

"This isn't a disease, is it?" I say, projecting my thoughts.

Hanji sighs, "No. Your mother and I believe that this is someone messing around with black magic. Luckily, this means that in order to stop the plague from spreading, you just need to find the person who's controlling it."

"And that's what my mother's doing?"

"No. She's treating the sick. The king's guard are taking care of finding the culprit."

"Pathetic," I mutter. Can you tell that I have an issue with the royal family?

Hanji takes on a more serious tone and stare at me with stone cold eyes. “There is a darkness growing all around us, Jean. We may not sense it, but it's there. It's getting stronger, and one day it'll destroy everything you love. You are in great danger. The darkness will find you, and you will have to fight it. You are the only thing that can stop it. You know why. But there is hope. You may not see it now, but a great light will cross your path. Treat it well. Cherish it. Love it. It may be the one thing that saves you in this life.”

“Hah?”

Gumbie pounces onto the counter, startling us.

"Hello, Gumble!" Hanji coos, dismissing what she had just said.

"It's 'Gumbie'," I laugh. Hanji apologises to my cat and gives him a long, loving stroke. Gumbie rubs his head into Hanji's ring adorned hand and purrs.

I open my mouth to speak, still confused by her odd speech, but she cuts me off before I can say a single word. "I never understood why you called him 'Gumbie', Jean," she muses as my cat continues to rub into her, "it's not a very witchy name for a cat."

"A mother and her young daughter came into the shop one day. The daughter couldn't speak properly yet and Gumbie wasn't letting her stroke him. So she tried to say 'grumpy' but it came out as 'gumbie'. We've called him that ever since."

"That's a nice story," Hanji smiles. Gumbie sprawls out across the counter, begging for someone to give him more attention. I rub his slightly podgy belly, making him purr even louder. "He's a good familiar."

"He's pretty special," I agree.

 

* * *

 

Hanji left soon after, but not before she’d finished smothering Gumbie and told me to shut up shop early. She'd told me that I deserved a break and that she had to go back to Jinae to help my mother, taking the corpse of the gremlin with her, so she could do some... tests.  

She hadn’t said anything else on her odd outburst about “a darkness” or “a great light”. I don’t think she even knew she did that. I didn’t pry anymore though. She probably didn’t mean it… and it sounded like a load of bullshit. So I put it in the back of my mind, even though it niggled at me. If I am in great danger, then it’ll happen when it’ll happen. There’s nothing I can do about it.

Luckily, Hanji said that she'd come and check up on me every few days to make sure I was taking care of my "witchly duties". That was a huge relief. I can’t take care of this place on my own. I might accidentally kill one of my customers whilst practising. Come to think of it, I haven’t practiced in a few days.

I slide out from behind the counter and beckon Gumbie to follow me into the back room. He waddles in obediently.

Shutting the door, I’m instantly cast into pitch black. There is a reason for this. You see, every one hundred years, one lucky witch gets powers. Don’t ask me why because I don’t fucking know. They just do. And I’m not talking about shitty card tricks either: I’m talking about real magic.

Yes, I heal people. Yes, I sell people spells and potions. But anyone can do that. You don’t need to be an almighty witch with powers to cast a spell or mix a potion. Not saying that I’m almighty or anything, I just happen to be the lucky witch that has these powers for some unknown reason.

They’re not anything too special and I’m still learning how to control them. But I guess it’s pretty fun being the only living witch with powers.

But I can’t use them for fun. They’re “for emergencies only”, according to my mother.

So, here I am, standing in a pitch black room with my cat circling around my ankles. Gumbie nuzzles his head into my foot and meows at me.

“Shh,” I whisper. “You’re going to ruin my concentration.”

He meows at me again, probably mocking me.

“Yes, Gumbie, I know I never concentrate, but you’re still not helping.”

I can no longer feel him rubbing against my leg. I suck in a breath, close my eyes and stretch my fingers. I hold out my hands in front of me and clasp them into some kind of ball shape. I can already feel my fingers twitching. That’s good. Just a little longer. My palms become warmer. I can feel it growing between my hands. I want to look, but I know that if I do, it’ll fade. The heat between my palms is surging throughout my body, making me lightheaded and dizzy. I really need to practise more. Slowly, I open my eyes and stare at the white light escaping through the cracks between my fingers. I unclasp my hands and watch as the ball of white light sitting in my palm radiates. The soft glow reflects off the crystals, creating a kaleidoscope of colour on the ceiling and walls.

I wonder if I can take this further.

Without thinking, I throw the light up into the air and it hovers in the centre of the room, the light still dancing across the walls, intruding into every crack and shadow. I notice Gumbie perched on top of my desk, the light reflecting off his black fur and his cobalt eyes.

“Are you proud of me, Gumbie?” I ask. He ignores me and continues to stare at the shining ball of bright white light. I can’t help but copy him. This is the brightest light I’ve ever made.  Maybe this is the “great light” Hanji was talking about?  This light may not seem like much, but it’s certainly a way to woo people. It doesn’t really do anything else except look pretty… I think. If it does do something else, then I sure as hell haven’t found out yet. For now I just like to use it to freak people out, or get someone into bed. It works both ways.

I hear the shop door creak open, startling me. I lose my concentration and the light disappears, sending me back into the darkness.

“Fuck,” I curse. I was doing so well. I heave open the door of the back room and storm into the shop, immensely pissed off. Can’t people read the perfectly clear sign outside that actually says “CLOSED”?

I stop in my tracks and stare at the woman leaning on the counter. “Hitch,” I smirk, “long time no see.” She glares at me. She probably still regrets what happened last week. Let’s just say that the last time I saw her, she was stumbling around an unfamiliar room trying to find her clothes after a long night of sweet… you know the rest.

“I’m not here for you, Jean,” she spits, “I need something from your shop.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m closed.”

“You don’t usually close until sundown.”

“I deserved a break.”

She sighs and stuffs her hand into her dress pocket, fumbling around for something. She pulls out a jingling velvet pouch holds it in front of her. "I'll pay you double." I eye the pouch and quickly snatch it out of her hand, placing it onto the counter.

What? Being a witch isn’t exactly the highest paid job in the world.

“Fine.” I sigh, “What do you want?”

“A love spell.”

I can’t help but laugh at her. Hitch’s parents are close friends with Duke Erwin, the rich asshole who also happens to be the king’s brother, who lives in the castle on the other side of Trost. She’s the kind of girl that could have any man she wants, including me, just by the click of her finger. She’s rich, beautiful, good in bed, what more could you want? What the hell would a girl like her need a love spell for?

“You have got to be fucking me,” I laugh.

“Been there, done that.”

I smirk, “Ah, so you haven’t completely forgotten what happened last week?” I cock an eyebrow at her, attempting to look seductive.

“How could I forget the worst fuck of my life?” So my attempt to look seductive failed. Oh well.

“It wasn’t that bad.” I mumble.

“It was. But I’m not here to tell you how awful you are at satisfying a woman’s needs. I need a love spell.” I sit down behind the counter and stare at her, still confused as to why she actually needs one.

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business,” she retorts.

“It is actually. As the owner of this shop, I need to know what you intend to do with the particular spell I give you so I know what kind you need. Not all love spells are the same you see.”

She crosses her arms and her cheeks become stained with pink. Her head lowers and her feet begin to shuffle. She clears her throat, but hesitates before finally speaking. “Someone’s coming into Trost today, someone that I like quite a lot, and he’ll be staying with Duke Erwin. Soon, the Duke will host a party and his guest will be there. I’m invited. I want the Duke’s guest to fall in love with me and make me his bride.” Her voice is almost reduced to a whisper. She lifts her head to stare at me with begging eyes.

“Who is he?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t have a chance with him, that’s why I need the spell. Please don’t ask me who he is. You won’t sell me anything if you know.”

What?

“Why wouldn’t I sell you anything? I’m pretty tight on money right now, any business, unless you’re planning on causing someone harm, is business.”

She sighs and covers her face with her hands. “It’s the prince,” comes her muffled reply.

“Hah?”

“The prince. I want the prince.”

“The prince is coming to Trost?” I frown.

“Yes.”

It was only a matter of time before he would. He’s probably trying to escape the plague. That’s right; flee to the neighbouring city whilst my mother takes care of your dying people. Self-centred piece of shit.

“Now are you going to help me or not?” Hitch pipes up, disturbing my train of thought.

“I guess I have to.” I sigh. Sliding off the stool, I try not to look at her. I don’t know how she’s even met the prince and I don’t care. It’s still a mystery though. No one ever sees the prince. The king keeps him as far away from his subjects as possible and the only time he ever seems to go outside is when there’s a special event. Even then, only nobles get to see him. The king’s too proud of his obedient son to let his mind be poisoned with the horrors of the city. Now he’s coming to Trost only to be caged away again.

I scan the bookcase at the back of the shop, running my fingers along the ancient spines, skim-reading the names of each one.

“Do you even know what he looks like?” I ask.

Silence.

“Hitch,” I exhale, “I need to know this. If you don’t know what he looks like then you’re going to need a different kind of spell.”

“No, I don’t know what he looks like,” she mutters.

I roll my eyes, not caring whether she sees. “How can you be in love with someone you’ve never met?”

“I’ve heard so many stories about him, Jean. He’s handsome, courageous, kind-“

“He doesn’t give a fuck about his currently dying people,” I cut her off. She doesn't say anything to that. "The book I'm looking for isn't here. It's probably in the back room." I beckon Hitch to follow me into the room where I had just been practising. The only form of light came from the open doorway.

"It's so dark in here," she marvels.

Stating the obvious much?

I walk over to where I think the window is and feel around for the shutters. I pull them open, letting light flood into the room.

"Not anymore."

I walk over to my desk and file through a pile of books. I find the one I'm looking for and skip through the stained pages. An incantation is written in the centre of the page in my grandmother's handwriting. It's not a love spell. She doesn't need one of those. This is much better.

"This is an attraction spell," I begin, grabbing a piece of parchment and a pencil. "It will draw the prince to you, not make him fall in love with you. Love spells don't work like that. After he has been drawn to you, it's up to you to make an impression on him. You can't make him fall in love with you, so don't come complaining that the spell didn't work because he didn't fall head over heels. That's just not how it works." I hurriedly scribble the incantation onto the parchment and hand it to her. She takes it and nods.

"Is there anything else I need?" she asks.

I nod and walk out of the room, with her following close behind me.

"I still think you're mad," I say, picking up a hematite. "My point still stands that you can't fall in love with a man you've never met."

"What do you know about love, Jean?" Hitch scowls as I hand her the hematite. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Keep this on you on the night of the party. It might be an idea to make it into a necklace. Just read out the incantation when you see the prince. It should draw him to you." 

She folds her arms, incantation and hematite crumpled in her hand. Hitch cocks her eyebrow.

"What?"

"You're avoiding my question."

"What question?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

I have to think about how to reply. "No. Witches can't fall in love. Or maybe it's just my family that's cursed when it comes to falling for others. I don't know. Put it this way, the last witch that fell in love was my mother, and now she's stuck with me. But for witches, falling in love usually ends in suffering and pain. I don't fancy that."

Yes, it's true, I've never been in love. I can't really count my obsession with Mikasa when I was thirteen. I don't care anymore. No one is going to fall in love with me any time soon, so I may as well stop trying.

"Poor Jean," Hitch pouts, mocking me. I knew I shouldn't have said anything.

"Just go," I mutter.

She huffs and places her hand to my face.

She'd better not kiss me.

Her slate eyes stare into mine.

Oh shit, she's going to kiss me. Please don't kiss me. For fuck's sake, don't kiss me.

I stare at her with wide eyes. Hopefully she'll get the hint. 

She frowns and retracts her hand. "You know, Jean, maybe if you weren't such a prick, someone might fall for you," she snaps.

“Who says I want to fall in love?”

“Say that again when you’re old, alone and dying,” she sniggers.

“Who says I’m going to grow old?”

Her face drops and she storms out of my shop. Thank goodness.

I sit down behind the counter and stare at the shelves around my shop. I’m quite proud of it if I’m honest. It may be small, old, cramped, messy, rotten and constantly smells of lavender, but it’s home. Yes, it gets lonely, but I still have Gumbie.

Wait. Where’s Gumbie?

“Gumbie!” I call, desperate for some company.

Nothing. No patter of padded paws, no meow, no sign of movement.

“Gumbie!”

Still nothing.

Alright, I lied. I’m lonely. Really lonely. I have friends; I just don’t see them often. If I’m lucky, mother lets me have a Thursday afternoon off to go see them in town. But that rarely happens. Every Thursday my friends all go to Joe’s Tavern for drinks. It’s a tradition and I haven’t been in weeks.

“Today’s Thursday. I have the rest of the day off. I can go into town. I can do what I want. Mother’s not here to stop me,” I smile to myself. I peer out of the window.  It’s still light outside. I have time to go into the centre. Finally, I can escape.

“Gumbie, I’m going to see the others,” I call. I grab the pouch that Hitch gave me and literally run out of the door.

 

* * *

 

The walk into the centre of Trost isn't necessarily a long one. It's just a pain.

My mother had set up shop just outside the centre of Trost on the edge of a forest, which I'm forbidden to go into, even at the age of eighteen. Apparently the stuff of horror stories live in that forest. Things like werewolves, vampires, wendigos and evil spirits. 

Yes, those things are all real, and I'm not planning on encountering any of those any time soon. Gremlins are enough.

To get to the centre of Trost, I have to pass through the large field of itchy grass that I have called my front garden since I was born. It seems like miles of tall grass, concealing what seems like hundreds of rabbit holes, that even after eighteen years, I still manage to get my foot stuck in.

This journey is no different.

I manage to get my foot stuck in about seven rabbit holes. Yes, I counted.

After emerging from the field of death, I have to trek along the cobbled path that leads into the centre. That's fine. It always is. I'm greeted by my mother's patients and customers as I walk, and because I'm a lovely person, I greet them back.

The smell is the first thing I recognise. It hits me the very second I enter the centre. 

The smell of burning meat, piss, beer and disappointment. 

Joe's tavern is the unseediest bar in all of Trost. It isn't busy, there are rarely any brawls and although the alcohol is overpriced, it's a better alternative than going to any other bar and getting your drink spiked with fuck knows what. Plus, Connie works there, so we usually get a discount on the alcohol.

I push open the rotting wooden door of the bar and stride into the smoke filled room. I nearly choke to death on the thickness of tobacco.

Incense is one thing, but tobacco is a completely different kind of muggy smell altogether.

I get used to the smoke and I spot my friends sitting at the bar. Just as I expect, Eren's the only one drinking.

"Don't drink too much, Jaeger," I call, making my presence known to the entire bar, "you still need to work." Eren just glares at me.

"Piss off, I've only had one drink," he grumbles.

"Jean!" Armin smiles. He offers me the seat next to him. Connie's cleaning tankards behind the bar and grins as soon as he sees me. Sasha notices that he's stopped lovingly staring at her and follows his gaze until it falls onto me. She smiles and waves at me, but soon continues swooning over her husband-to-be.

"Where have you been? We haven't seen you in weeks," Armin asks.

"Working," I chuckle as I sit down next to him.

"Is all that healing making you tired, Jean?" Sasha giggles.

"It's hard work," I retaliate.

"It's not as bad as half the shit I put up with," Connie sighs.

That's a load of bullshit.

Out of the five of us, Connie probably has the easiest job. Joe's a decent boss and actually likes Connie. He pays him well and often lets Sasha just sit at the bar and talk to him so he didn't get lonely. With there rarely being any fighting at the tavern, the only hardship Connie has to deal with is the odd drunken slob who he has to ask to leave.

Sasha usually stays at home. She doesn't work, so I guess she doesn't really count.

Eren works for his uncle Hannes in the local bakery. I admit, he's pretty good at his job and he's quite passionate about it. If he ever made a loaf of bread that wasn't up to his standards, he’d throw a hissy fit and chuck it out. Simple as that.

Armin has the worst job of all. He's the stable boy at the Duke's castle on the other side of Trost. He's paid hardly anything, as the royal family are utter cheapskates. He works all day, and some nights. He rarely gets a day off, and he often turns up at the tavern smelling of horse shit. I have no idea how he puts up with it.

My job's pretty shitty too. Well, the only thing about it that pays is the spells, potions and remedies that we sell. Apart from that, my job consists of healing, practising, cleaning and killing gremlins, or any other kind of mythical pain in the ass that decides to make an appearance. It's never the really dangerous creatures though. They tend to stay in the forest that's also known as my back garden. So life's good.

"Well, Connie," Eren slurs, he's getting tipsy, "at least you don't smell like shit every day." Eren pats Armin's back and laughs. Armin flushes bright red.

He sighs, "Duke Erwin's got me working overtime. Apparently something big is happening soon."

"What?" Sasha frowns.

"He's throwing a party in a few weeks and I have to work the stables as well as help to serve the guests," Armin mumbles.

"What's the big event?" Connie asks.

"No idea. All I know is that there's going to be someone pretty important there."

"It’s the prince," I scoff. Everyone turns to face me. “Hitch came into the shop today asking for a love potion. She’s been invited to this party and she’s been told that the prince will be there. I have no idea by whom. But Armin, do me a favour and poison the fucker for me?”

"Jean!" Sasha gasps, "You can't say things like that! What's that you're always saying about karma and ugly thoughts? Practice what you preach, mister."

"Oh, Sasha, don't pretend that you wouldn't do it if you had the chance," I sigh. Prepare yourself for my rant on how much I despise the royal family. "The king and his son are the real scum of society. They bathe in riches and silk in the capital, whilst their own kingdom slowly rots away right under their noses. And what do they do about it? Nothing! The king is too worried about using our taxes to hold balls and spoil his son, rather than taking care of his people. The prince is no better. He has the power to change this kingdom when he comes to power, but he doesn't seem to take any interest in politics whatsoever. He's more interested in his fan club of immature little girls and jousting tournaments. It's pathetic. The entire royal family are-"

"Keep your voice down, Jean!" Connie shouts, cutting me off from my rant. And I was just getting to the good bit. "Do you want to get arrested?"

"I'm just saying that this kingdom will rot if no one does anything about it," I snap. "Who am I kidding? It's already started. The plague's already broken out in the capital, and the king can't even handle it himself, so he's sent for my mother to sort it all out for him." I shake my head and laugh dryly. "It's pathetic."

"The plague?" Sasha gapes.

I nod, "Someone's controlling it with black magic. The old remedy isn't working. That's why I'm looking after the shop on my own whilst my mother's risking her life in Jinae doing the king's dirty work for him." No one says anything. They know I'm right.

"Pass me an ale."

Connie sighs, fills up one of the tankards with house ale and places it in front of me. "This one's on the house," he smiles. I nod in thanks and take a long gulp of the sweet alcohol. I need this.

"Well you've certainly put quite the downer on things, haven't you, Jean?" Eren laughs.

"Eren!" Armin scowls. Sasha swats the back of his head, only causing him to grumble even more.

I scan the tavern for anyone suspicious who may have listened to my rant. And by suspicious, I mean anyone that isn’t human. That’s my other power: I can see people in their true form.

I register each customer of the tavern individually.

Human. Human. Human. Human. Armin, human. Connie, human. Sasha, human.

Then there’s Eren. He’s not so human.

Eren is a shape shifter. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve known ever since the day I met him. He doesn’t know how to use his powers or make them come into use. I, unfortunately, have to keep an eye on him until he figures out that he does have powers, then it’s my lucky job to tell him everything I know.

For example, Eren can change into any animal he wants, that’s real of course. His powers are triggered by his emotions and he needs a motive in order to transform. Most of the time a shape shifter’s powers are triggered by an adrenaline rush. In Eren’s case, he lives an incredibly boring life so that has never happened to him. His powers have never been triggered, so he has no idea that he has them. I would tell him, but that wouldn’t be right. I can’t exactly go up to one of my friends and say: “Oh, by the way you’re a shape shifter and can turn into any animal you want. Congratulations.”

It’s not that simple. I have to wait for the day that Eren finds out for himself what he is.

Until then, I’m quite happy teasing him for no apparent reason.

“What the hell?” Sasha frowns. My mind snaps back to reality and I hear the commotion coming from outside the bar. It sounds like people cheering.

“Let’s go look,” Eren orders getting out of his seat and following the other customers out of the bar.

“Wait! Eren!” Armin shouts, going after him. Eren opens the door of the bar and the sound of happy people gets louder, only to be muffled again by the door slamming shut as Eren and Armin emerge into the crowded street.

“I guess we have to go after them,” I sigh, following them out with Connie and Sasha behind me.

The sudden burst of light almost blinds me as I step into the street. There’s cheering people everywhere and the noise is deafening.

“Jean!” Armin calls beckoning me over to him, “You can see perfectly from here!”

I look behind me. Connie and Sasha aren’t there. I must have lost them to the deathly grasp of the crowd. I shrug and walk towards Armin.

He’s right. I can see everything from here.

Uniformed men and women on horseback parade down the street, heading towards the castle. They’re clothed in forest green capes that flicker in the wind, with the unmistakeable emblem of the king on the back: the ‘Wings of Freedom’. How ironic.

Following closely behind them is a black wooden carriage, adorned with gold swirls and flowers, pulled by two black horses.

“It’s the prince!” someone shouts. I try to get a better look at the carriage, not that I care about the prince or anything. I stand on my tippy toes and peer over the messy heads of hair and waving arms. The carriage rolls up past me and I try to peer into the window. I manage to see the silhouette of a waving hand, but not much else. The carriage pulls away almost as quickly as it had pulled up.

Behind the carriage are seven more people on horseback. This must be the elite guard, although I’m sure that there’s supposed to be eight of them. Two of the riders only look my age. One of them is a girl with blonde hair that’s pulled into a tight ponytail, what looks like a crow’s nose and has the most terrifying expression on her face I’ve ever seen. I don’t want to bump into her in the middle of the night. The other is a pretty big guy who also has blonde hair and a constant scowl on his face. He’s pretty scary but not as scary as the vampire that’s riding behind them.

Wait. Vampire? Why’s a vampire with the elite guard?

I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s considerably shorter than any of the other guards, but he’s certainly the most intimidating. His skin is as white as mountain tops, his eyes are a dull and emotionless grey, his hair's jet black and messily parted. He senses me staring at him and glares at me. His eyes send a shiver down my spine.

“Armin.” I grab his sleeve and pull him closer to me, not taking my eyes away from the vampire. “Do you see him?” I nod at the man. He’s still got his eyes glued to me.

“Yes.” Armin nods.

“When you’re working at the castle, stay away from him at all costs.”

Armin frowns, “Why?”

“He’s a vampire.”

Amin sucks in a breath, I can feel him tense. “Are you sure?”

“I can see it.”

The vampire squints its eyes at me, almost as if it were trying to listen in on the conversation. He keeps glaring at me as he slowly rides away and around the corner. I feel an odd sense of relief as I no longer feel him watching me.

The crowd begins to disperse, the people all resuming their daily tasks, leaving the five of us to find one another again.

“Did you see him?” Eren grins as he pulls all of us back into the now empty tavern.

“See who?” Sasha asks.

“Lance Corporal Levi, of course!”

We all exchange confused glances. Eren’s obsessed with the elite guard and he’s constantly naming the members. Although the name rings a bell, I can’t put the name to a face.

“He’s the leader of the elite guard, the most amazing soldier the world’s ever seen, the bravest man to ever live. I could have sworn he was staring right at you, Jean.”

Ah. The vampire. That explains a lot.

I can’t believe this. The world’s most famous soldier is a vampire. He’s the first vampire I’ve ever seen and to be honest, he’s not that scary. I expected fangs and bloodshot eyes, at least some kind of tell-tale sign to any human, but no. He looked completely normal. Maybe a little short, but still relatively normal.

Now to scare the shit out of Eren: “He’s a vampire,” I declare. Eren’s face drops instantly.

“What?”

“He’s a vampire.”

“Vampires don’t exist,” Connie laughs. I sling my arm around him.

“Oh yes they do, and one of them is in Trost right now.” I can’t help but grin. Their faces are fantastic.

“Jean, are you trying to scare us?” Sasha scowls. 

Her face makes me reconsider playing around with them. I don’t think my stupid grin is really helping the fact that a vampire is in Trost sink in. I stand up straight and compose myself. “No. I’m being serious. This Lance Corporal Levi is a vampire and he is head of the elite guard. He’s probably here to just look after the prince and nothing more. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“But aren’t all vampires meant to be evil blood-sucking fuckers?” Eren asks.

“No. Some are, but most just tend to do what they think is best for them. They don’t take sides. I have no idea what this one’s doing in the elite guard, but I don’t think it’s any of my business to find out. But, just as a precaution, I’d suggest that if any of you see him, you stay away. I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

Sasha clings onto Connie’s arm. “Jean, you’re scaring me.”

“Sasha, you have nothing to worry about,” Armin smiles, “I’m the one who’s going to be working in the same building as him. Jean’s right, I think he’s only here for the prince. We have nothing to worry about. Besides, why would he come into town anyway?”

Sasha nods and nuzzles her face into Connie’s arm. Eren makes his way behind the bar and helps himself to another ale, downing it in one gulp. I roll my eyes at him, I think it’s about time he went home.

“I’d better head home,” I say, hoping that Eren would copy me. As much as the guy is a complete idiot, I don’t want him stumbling home barely able to stand. He’s… special, after all. He doesn’t hear me and pours himself another tankard.

“We will see you soon, right?” Armin asks.

“Of course you will.”

Maybe.

“See you, Jean,” Connie calls as I head out of the door and back out onto the nearly deserted street.

 

* * *

 

I open the door of the shop to be greeted with the familiar smell of burning lavender. No gremlins, no customers that can’t read and nothing is out of place. Just how I like it.

I actually enjoyed seeing the others. It was a nice escape from the constant loneliness I have at the shop. I don't see them often, but when I do I never regret it. I admit I felt bad about scaring Sasha about the vampire, but a little fear never hurt anyone, right? 

I'm just about ready to make myself some supper, when I hear something move. Gumbie scampers out from behind a bookcase and hunches between my feet, his back arched. He hisses at the books and let’s off a territorial growl.

Something’s not right.

Trying not to make a sound, I grab a knife from one of the displays and slowly creep towards the bookcase, trying to avoid all of the creaky floorboards. As I edge closer I can hear paper rustling.

Someone else is here.

I think back to the vampire. Holy shit, what if it followed me home? What if it’s come to kill me? Am I going to die if I look behind this bookcase?

My hand’s quivering. I can’t stop it. I hold the knife tighter and take in a deep breath. My adrenaline kicks into action, forcing me to jump around the side of the bookcase and scream at the figure behind it. It’s all a blur. I can’t see anything. The figure screams and drops the book that it had been reading. It scrambles away from me, it’s arms give out and I hear a loud thud as its head hits the wooden floor. I keep yelling at the figure shoving my knife towards it. I stamp over to it. It covers its face and cowers away from me. My breathing starts to steady and my vision becomes clearer. I’m still pointing my knife at the cowering trespasser, staring down at it.

“Who the fuck are you?” I spit. The trespasser takes its hands away from its face and stares up at me. I realise that the intruder isn’t an ‘it’ but a ‘he’. That doesn’t change anything. I’m still pissed off.

“Answer me!” I yell.

The boy flinches. I can’t see his face, my shadow’s blocking out the light.

“M-Marc. My n-name is Marc,” he whimpers.

“Well, Marc, what the fuck are you doing in my shop after closing times?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were closed.”

“There’s a fucking sign outside that says ‘CLOSED’.”

“I didn’t see it, sorry.” Damn he apologises a lot. And he talks really fucking quickly. I stare down at him. He looks terrified.

“Get up.” I sigh. I turn away from him, and place the knife back on the display. Marc heaves himself off the floor and follows me to the counter like an obedient puppy. I sit down in my stool and glare at the boy I nearly killed. He knows he's in for it. His eyes flicker all around the shop, not letting his eyes fall on me. 

Am I really that scary?

I glance out of the window. The sun’s only just disappearing, leaving the shop in an odd fire like light. I look back at Marc, who's still avoiding my eyes. It's the first time I've seen his face properly and I don't recognise him from anywhere. The light of the slowly disappearing sun illuminates his face, showing his defined jaw line and neatly parted raven hair. His pale skin is covered in freckles, giving him the kind of face where I can’t tell if he’s my age or twelve. At least I think he’s my age. His eyes are a soft brown with specks of amber that sparkle as the light of the sunset hits them. How can I not recognise such a distinct face?

“Why are you here?” I ask.

He suddenly stands to attention. “I wanted to see the Trost Witch,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck and tries to avoid eye contact with me.

“Well, you’re looking at him.”

Marc stares at me with wide eyes. “Really?”

“My mother’s in Jinae, so for now that makes me the Trost Witch, I guess.”

He won’t stop staring at me. Why won’t he stop staring at me?

“What? Did you expect me to be an old hag with warts and a broom?” I scoff.

“N-no. I just didn’t know that male witches existed.”

“Well, now you do.”

Marc goes silent. He just lets his eyes wonder around the shop, admiring the different ointments, potions and books that decorate the shelves. He doesn't do anything else. He just stands there, taking no notice of me. I still don't know why he's here, but for some reason, I don't ask him. I just stare at him.

Marc sucks in a breath and shifts in his spot. Gnawing at his lip, he looks up at me and stares me right in the eyes. Finally.

“Teach me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Teach me witchcraft.”

This guy can’t be serious.

“What? No. Why would I do that? I don’t even know you.”

He edges closer to me, his hands clasped. “Please, I’m begging you. Teach me.”

This is quite a surprise.

“Give me one good reason why I should.” I snap.

“You nearly killed me.”

“You trespassed.”

His hands fall to his sides and he lowers his head in shame. 

“I am sorry about that. But you really don’t have a sign outside. You should probably get one,” he sighs.

“Everyone knows that I close at sundown.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m not from around here, I’m from Jinae. I only just arrived today.”

“And the first thing you do is come here?” I smirk. He nods. I bite my lip and drum my fingers on the counter.

Having an apprentice can't be too bad, I guess. It would be a pain if he's no good, but he seems eager enough to put the effort in.

Why am I actually considering this?

“You really want to do this, right?” I ask.

No, Jean. Stop. You like being alone. You don't need an apprentice. This guy could be a complete lunatic. You don't know anything about him.

“Yes. More than anything.”

I sigh, “Tell you what; you’ve got a week to impress me. Come here every day at noon and I’ll teach you the basics. If I like you, then I’ll continue to teach you. Fair deal?”

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“Deal.” he splutters, grinning like an idiot.

No. I'm the idiot.

“Alright. We start tomorrow. You can show yourself out.” I point towards the door and start scanning the shop for Gumbie.

“Thank you,” Marc smiles.

"Every day," I repeat, "or the deal's off. You sure you can do that? It's hard work."

He nods, "I can do it." He pauses. "I can't do _every_ single day though. My job doesn't exactly have a flexible schedule."

"What do you do?"

He hesitates and lowers his head. "I work in the castle. I'm the prince's man-servant."

Now this just got interesting.

"Just come whenever you can then. Don't get lazy about it though." I turn to him, offering him my hand. “I’m Jean, by the way.”

He takes my hand in his, which is surprisingly soft, and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Jean.”

He actually pronounced my name right. One point for Marc.

"I'd better go back. I have the feeling that my disappearance will be noticed soon," he says heading towards the door, "I can definitely come tomorrow though."

"Well I'm not going anywhere, so you know where to find me."

Why am I being so nice to him? I'm never this nice. I don’t know him or anything about him and I’ve just agreed to teach him witchcraft. It happened so fast. I don’t like this.

Jean. You’re a fucking idiot.

He gives me another genuine smile as he walks out of the shop, closing the door behind him, instantly sending me back into my immense loneliness.

I still can’t tell whether taking Marc on as my apprentice is the best thing I’ve ever done, or the stupidest.


	2. Once Upon A Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV.

I stare up at the stone ceiling above me and force myself to sit up. Heaving myself away from the warm mattress and pillows, I stare around the room. The same room I’d stayed in the last time I came to Trost. It doesn’t look any different. The old toy box is still in the far corner of the room, filled with toys that my uncle had specifically made for me in preparation for my stay. The same wooden wardrobe is still standing tall and proud opposite my bed and the tapestry on the wall, depicting my favourite bedtime story from when I was younger, is still there as colourful as I remember. I smile as memories of my childhood come rushing back to me. I remember my uncle telling me stories of brave knights and dragons, exploring the castle gardens for the first time, playing ‘Hide and Seek’ with the other children that my uncle lets live in the castle. Then I remember why I also despise coming to Trost: my father doesn’t want me around.

He doesn’t do it often, but whenever he sends me to stay with my uncle, it’s usually because he doesn’t want me in the capital. Last time I came to stay, it was when my mother passed away. My father couldn’t mourn properly with a confused thirteen-year-old around asking too many questions, so he sent me to Trost for a few weeks. This time I know that it’s out of love. The plague has broken out again and he wants me to be safe. I wanted to stay in Jinae and help the people, but my father insisted that I spend my nineteenth birthday in Trost with my uncle. He promised he’d try and make it to the party that my uncle’s organising, but I know it’s not likely.

My thoughts are disturbed by a sharp knocking on my bedroom door.

“Marco? Are you awake?” asks a familiar sweet voice.

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Just about.” My bedroom door opens and Petra steps into the room. She smiles at me and quickly closes the door behind her.

“You’re in big trouble,” she sighs as she sits at the foot of my bed.

I chuckle. I had the feeling that I’d get caught for the little escapade I pulled yesterday. “What did I do now?” I ask, knowing full well what I did.

Petra clears her throat. “Yesterday, the carriage arrived here perfectly on time after being swamped by the civilians trying to get a good look at you. Everyone was crowded around and they couldn’t wait to see you, especially your uncle. Pastor Nick kindly opened the door of the carriage for you so you could get out… but who do we see sitting inside? Not you, but Bertholdt wearing your clothes.”

I throw my head back in laughter and collapse back onto my mattress. I look up to find her scowling at me. I try to put on a more serious face, but I just can’t control my giggles. “I’m sorry Petra.” I try to hold back my hysterics, but fail miserably. I cackle as I remember Bertholdt’s face as he tried to squeeze into my itchy formal clothes and Reiner’s fits of laughter as he saw me in Bertholdt’s oversized tunic and trousers that bunched up at my ankles.

“Marco, we were worried sick about you. Where were you?” I instantly stop laughing as a shiver travels up my spine.

“I went exploring,” I lie.

“Marco, you stopped exploring when you were nine. You’ve been into Trost plenty of times before. Your uncle was worried sick about you.”

“What did you tell him?” I ask, terrified. If my uncle finds out that me sneaking out is a regular thing, I don’t know what he’d do.

Petra smiles and places a calming hand over mine. “Don’t worry, Marco. Your secret’s safe with me. I just told him that you were just excited to be coming back to Trost and that you probably went exploring. I told him that I’d go and look for you, whereas in reality, I managed to get some shopping done. No one suspects a thing.”

“Not even Levi?”

“Levi suspects everything, Marco. It’s just a matter of whether he can be bothered to do anything about it.”

“Petra, you’re incredible.”

“I do try,” she smiles. “But next time you decide to sneak out, please tell me so that I don’t have a heart attack when I find you missing.”

“I promise.” I perform a crossing motion over my heart and smile at her.

She shuffles closer to me and grins. “So tell me about where you ventured to yesterday then?”

“I went to see the Trost Witch,” I whisper.

“But she’s in Jinae.”

“No one told me that,” I shrug. “But when I got there, no one was in. I assumed that they’d just gone out for a bit so I started reading a really interesting book about warlocks. I only managed to read a few pages when a cat decided to hiss at me and then it ran away. I went back to reading, but next thing I know, someone’s pointing a knife at me and screaming.”

Petra stares at me with wide eyes. “Were you hurt?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. But I managed to scramble away from him. After he’d calmed down and I’d told him who I was-“

“You told him who you were?” Petra’s grip on my arm tightens.

“No! I told him that my name was Marc and that I was the prince’s man-servant.” Petra lets out a sigh of relief and loosens her grip. “But I’m going to learn, Petra.”

“Learn what?”

“Witchcraft. He’s going to teach me.”

Petra frowns at me. She doesn’t seem convinced. “Who exactly is this ‘he’, Marco?”

“Jean. He’s the witch’s son.”

“The witch’s son?” I nod. Petra clasps her hand over mine and gives me a concerned stare. “If you’re going to learn witchcraft from him, Marco… please be careful.”

“Petra,” I laugh, “I know he nearly killed me, but he can’t be that bad. Witches are meant to be good, aren’t they?”

She sighs. “Yes, all witches have good intentions. It’s just a matter of whether they have morals. And from what I’ve heard, the witch’s son doesn’t have very good ones.” The grip over my hand tightens. “Just be careful.”

“I will.”

She smiles. “Good. Now, remember what I always say?”

“Be good. But if you can’t be good, don’t get caught,” we say in unison. We look at one another and laugh.

I don’t understand my relationship with Petra if I’m honest. I love her, but not in the way where I want to kiss her. I love her like a big sister really. She’s the sister I never had.

Every morning we do this. She’ll wake me up, we’ll talk about pretty much everything and then she’ll tell me to stop being lazy and get out of bed, even though she’s the one who’s distracting me.

“Come on then, you. Stop being so lazy and get out of bed.” Perfect timing. She ruffles my hair and makes her way towards the door. “If you’re quick, you might just catch Bertholdt and Reiner before they go hunting.” I nod and she slowly closes my bedroom door behind her.

Ever since Petra joined the elite guard we’ve become closer and closer. I can talk to her about anything and she even helps me sneak out. She understands why I need to do it.

After my mother died, Petra took over the role of making sure that I wasn’t completely alone and still taking care of my duties. But even though I have Petra, and I get along with Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie pretty well, I still feel alone. That’s why I sneak out. I like meeting new people and exploring the kingdom that I will someday have to rule. What good is a king who doesn’t even know his own country?

But I don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, I want to go hunting with Bertholdt and Reiner in the famous Forest of tall Trees.

 

* * *

 

I peer out of my room, the stone cold morning air hits me instantly. 

Freezing in June. Who’d have thought? 

I’m tempted to just skip hunting and return to my slightly small, but warm bed, but I’ve heard so many stories about the Forest of Tall Trees, I just can’t resist the urge to go and see what all the fuss is about. Not that they’re good stories mind.

I shrug to myself and I step into the corridor and turn right, praying that I still remember the way to the stables.

After passing through what seems like hundreds of stone corridors and furnished hallways, I finally reach the great hall. It truly is the most spectacular room in the entire castle. Tall stone pillars stand side by side, tall and noble, completely unbreakable. Tapestries depicting great battles of old fill the slate room with indigos, golds and crimsons, strung up on the walls for everyone to see. A grand wooden table surrounds the four walls of the room, leaving a vast space in the centre. Clearly preparations for my birthday have already started. The tables weren’t arranged like this last time I was here. Nothing else has changed though. 

The early morning sun streams through the stain glassed windows, reflecting off the vibrant colours. I catch one of the coloured rays in my hand and laugh as I move my hand around, making my skin turn blue, then purple, then red-

“Marco.”

I yelp, my voice echoing around the what I thought was empty hall. I nearly jump out of my skin as I turn to see Levi standing right behind me, his constant blank stare judging my every movement. I didn’t even hear him come in. “What are you doing up so early?” he asks.

“I-I’m going hunting with Bertholdt and Reiner.”

“I hope you’re not going to sneak out like you did yesterday, Marco.” He only says my name to make his warning sink in further.

“No, sir.”

He hums and folds his arms. He’s not convinced. “Does the Duke know you’re going hunting?”

“No, sir.”

“Shouldn’t you tell him?”

“…Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Probably not,” I say with caution. There’s no point in lying to Levi. He seems to know everything.

Levi stares at me quizzically, squinting his eyes at me and furrowing his brows. Eventually, he resumes his usual facial expression and turns away from me, slowly walking out of the hall.

“Are you going to tell my uncle?” I ask.

Levi pauses and turns to face me again. “I’m not going to do anything, Marco. What happens is entirely reliant on your decision of what to do. I’m not your babysitter. I do not care about the reckless activities you may or may not get up to. All I care is that you stay alive and I keep my job. Is that clear?”

I assume that’s Levi’s way of telling me to stay safe and not do anything too stupid, so I nod. He huffs and walks out of the hall, his footsteps echoing behind him.

 

* * *

 

“There you are!” Reiner calls as I approach the stables. “We’ve been waiting for ages!”

“I got lost!” I shout back with a slight chuckle in my voice.

Bertholdt waves at me as he clings onto the reins of a colossal brown horse. Reiner shakes his head at me and continues talking to the other boy with them. He’s much shorter than the other two with long blond hair and big blue eyes. I’ve never seen him before in my life.

“Marco,” Reiner begins, “meet Armin.” He gestures to the shorter blond, whose eyes instantly expand at the sight of me.

“Y-your highness,” he stammers, followed by a sharp bow.

“Y-you don’t need to do that,” I blush and scratch the back of my neck (a nervous habit I’ve picked up over the years, much to Petra’s amusement). “Please, just call me Marco.” Armin slowly stands straight and tries to avoid eye contact with me. The flush on his face only becomes darker.

“He hates being called that,” Reiner whispers, nudging his shoulder. “I still don’t get it. If I was the prince I’d get people to kneel before me all the time.”

“That’s because you’re not as kind-hearted as Marco.” Bertholdt teases. I can feel my face burning red.

Reiner just shrugs. “Wouldn’t you? Think of all that power, Bertl. Marco’s going to rule the kingdom one day and have everyone under his thumb. I’d take advantage of-“

“It’s one thing having power, Reiner, but you need the support of your people too. What good is a king who is despised by his own people?” 

Did I really just say that?

I look back at Armin who has decided to stay quiet. I don’t blame him. 

Bertholdt and Reiner just stare at me blankly. I scratch my neck again and let out a nervous laugh. I ignore their stares and walk towards the other horses. I hoist myself into the saddle of a pure white steed and clutch the reins. The riding gear is fitted perfectly and the reins are pulled tight. I also notice that all the horses in the stables look healthier than I’ve ever seen them. Their coats are glossy and their manes are smooth.

"Armin," I begin. Reiner and Bertholdt hoist themselves on to their horses. The blond stares at me with wide eyes. "Who looks after the horses here?"

Armin blushes. "I do. I-I'm the stable boy here."

"Well, I just want to say that the horses look healthier than I've ever seen them before. I haven't been to stay here for a while now, but they look fantastic. You're doing a great job."

"Thank you. That means a lot coming from you." Armin beams.

I emit another nervous laugh. “Well… thank you.”

“Are we going any time soon?” Reiner sighs.

“Of course, Your Highness!” I perform a mock bow, nearly toppling off my horse. Armin chuckles at my clumsiness. I look back up to find Reiner glaring at me.

“Alright ‘Prince Charming’ let’s go.”

I nod and smile back at Armin. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“See! Nice!” I hear Bertholdt laugh. They’re already heading towards the gate on their horses. Armin smiles back and I quickly begin following Reiner and Bertholdt out of the front gate.

 

* * *

 

The forest is drawing closer. I can see the tall trees from a mile away. It’s almost as if the forest is releasing its own darkness, it’s practically curling around the horse’s hooves. No wonder no one goes in there. As we edge closer and closer my stomach starts to turn and my horse becomes agitated.

“Shh. It’s alright.” I try to soothe my horse by rubbing behind its ears. This seems to calm it and we creep nearer.

I’ve heard plenty of stories about this place. Wolves and demons thrive in there, feeding off of any human stupid enough to go in. Or so I’ve heard. Trost is completely surrounded by this thick, black forest and the only way through it is the path that leads back to Jinae. Apparently you’re not supposed to stray off of the path, but it’s all stories. I know that witches are real, I’ve met two, but things like werewolves, vampires and demons are things that are just made up to scare small children. It worked on me when I was younger, but not anymore.

Reiner, Bertholdt and I stare into the mist of the forest before us. The trees tower over our heads, casting us into shadow and light seems to be non-existent.

Something moves deep within the trees, causing crows to shriek and fly out of hiding in the branches, trying to get away. If the crows aren’t staying, then neither am I.

A shiver runs down my spine and I look at Bertholdt and Reiner.

“I have a bad feeling about this forest,” Bertholdt slurs.

“Me too,” I agree.

“You’re both pathetic. It’s a forest for crying out loud.” Reiner pulls on his reins and edges closer to the trees. Noticing that we aren’t following him, he turns back to face us. “Try talking to each other to take your minds off it.”

With that he trots into the forest and the darkness consumes him. Bertholdt and I reluctantly follow him, our horses pushing their way through the branches.

I was right in thinking that light is non-existent here. I can only just make out the shape of Reiner’s broad shoulders as he leads the way further into the thickening black.

“You owe me for yesterday, Marco.” Bertholdt says with a slight nervous twitch. He’s only bringing this up because he’s uneasy. “Do you have any idea how tight your clothes are on me? How do you even survive in that shirt? And the crown’s really heavy.”

“It is made of pure gold, Bertholdt. Of course it’s going to be heavy,” Reiner chuckles.

“How much do I owe you, Bert?” I ask.

“You owe him a dance with the most beautiful maiden that attends your birthday,” Reiner answers for him.

“No he doesn’t!” Bertholdt whines.

“Done.”

As Bertholdt and Reiner continue to argue, my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and the full, disturbing picture of the forest comes into view. Stray roots cover every inch of the floor and moss covered fallen trunks lay rotting on the ground. The trees that are still standing completely block out any form of light, creating an illusion of a nights sky above us. Several trees we pass have odd engravings on them. Four thick, straight lines striking down the bark.

I look a little closer.

Those aren’t engravings. Those are claw marks. And they look fresh.

“Reiner, we need to leave. Now,” I demand.

“But we haven’t caught anything yet.”

“I don’t care. I have a bad feeling about this place and I’d quite like to make it out of here alive.”

“I agree with Marco. We need to leave,” Bertholdt says.

“Fine. We’ll go.” Reiner turns his horse around and strides past us, heading towards what I hope is the way out.

After a while, we pass through a small clearing that looks strangely familiar. I look at the trees that surround us and I notice four claw marks like the ones I'd seen earlier on one of the trees.

We keep going.

But when we pass the claw marks for a third time, I begin to realise that something is very wrong.

“Reiner, do you actually remember the way out?” I inquire.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Because we’ve passed this tree three times now. I remember the markings.”

Reiner sighs. “No. I don’t remember the way out.”

“Oh, god,” Bertholdt sobs.

“We’ll be fine,” Reiner reassures him. “We just need to find another exit.”

Now that, I don’t believe.

Out of nervousness, I begin to sing to myself to try and relax. An old trick my mother taught me:

“Under the lime tree

On the heather,

Where we had shared a place of rest,

Still you may find there,

Lovely together,

Flowers crushed and grass down-“

“You do know what that song’s about, right?” Reiner asks, cutting me off.

“Of course I do,” I frown.

“And that it’s supposed to be sung by a woman?”

“Yes.”           

“Then please continue so I may laugh when you get to the last two verses.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Bertholdt says, barely over a whisper.

Reiner and I steady our horses and turn to face him. He’s looking up into the branches of the tree in front of him with a horrified look on his face. Reiner and I follow his gaze to look upon the creature lurking above us in the crooked branches.

Its skin is a mouldy, murky grey colour, smeared with dirt from the undergrowth. Its eyes are gleaming red, glaring directly at us. Its stooped features are horribly disfigured and it bears its teeth that look more like boar’s tusks.

There’s no mistaking it. I’ve seen pictures of these things in stories. This is an orc.

It snarls at us and leaps down from its perch. For a moment, it does nothing. It stands up to its full terrifying height and stares at us silently, probably deciding how it’s going to eat us.

My stomach drops. This is it. This is how I’m going to die. Eaten by a creature I was convinced didn’t even exist.

The orc shrieks at us.

“Go!” Reiner yells and he pulls as hard as he can on his reins. Bert and I copy him and gallop as fast as we can away from the orc. 

I quickly glance behind me. As expected, the orc is chasing after us, crawling on all fours to help it run faster. It’s quickly catching up.

“Hurry!” I scream.

“I don’t know the way out!” Reiner panics.

“Then find another one!” Bertholdt shouts as he glances behind us to face the crawling orc. The creature shrieks again and picks up its pace. Reiner and Bertholdt speed up and gallop ahead of me.

I suddenly feel my horse jolt as it collides with a stray tree root, sending me flying through the air and I land on my back against a moss covered boulder. A sharp pain runs through me coming from my spine and I wince. I can’t move.

“Marco!” Bertholdt screams. They’re so far away.

As my head stops spinning I stare at the orc slowly crawling towards me. Slobber drools out of its mouth as it eyes me from head to toe.

I am going to die.

I can no longer hear Bertholdt and Reiner’s screams. They’re too far away to do anything. The ground’s thumping and I know that they’re coming back for me.

That’s if there’s anything left.

I stare up at the creature now towering over me. Its thick drool drops down onto my cheek. My body aches and I no longer have the might in me to wipe the disgusting liquid off my face. The pungent smell of the orc gets caught in my throat and I can practically taste the remains of its last meal on my tongue. I choke on the revolting flavour. 

It hisses at me. It leans in closer to my face, bearing its tusks.

I am prepared to die. I have no idea what I’m dying for, but I’m ready.

I force my eyes shut and listen to the ragged breath of the creature in front of me.

“Over here!” a familiar voice roars. But it’s not Bertholdt or Reiner.

I slowly open my eyes and watch the orc charge towards the silhouette of a cloaked figure on horseback, who quickly jumps of his horse (assuming it's a 'he') and draws his sword. Reiner and Bertholdt come rushing towards me.

“Are you alright?” Bertholdt asks, helping me up.

“I-I’m fine.” I finally wipe the drool off my cheek.

“Holy shit, Marco. I’m so sorry,” Reiner says with wide eyes as he helps to brush the dirt off my tunic.

“Reiner it’s fine re-“

I’m cut off by a deafening screech.

The cloaked figure from before pierces the creature with his glinting sword, its lanky body going limp over the metal blade. The figure pulls the weapon out of the corpse and wipes the blood off the blade with his sleeve.

“Tch. Filthy.”

I know that voice.

The figure approaches the three of us. We stare as our saviour removes his hood.

Levi.

“When you said that you were going hunting, Marco, I assumed that you meant that you were going to the grasslands, not the fucking forest,” he hisses. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Haven’t any of you heard the stories about what lies in this forest?”

“W-we didn’t know that things like that existed,” Bertholdt stammers.

“Well, they do.” He glares at us. “All three of you are imbeciles. And one of you has to rule this kingdom one day. God help us all.”

“Sir,” Reiner begins, “it’s my faul-“

“I don’t care. You’re alive and that’s all that counts. You’re lucky that I decided to go after you. If I hadn’t, Marco would be dead and it would be on your hands.” He turns away from us and hoists himself back onto his horse. “I found the way out. Get back on your horses and be quick about it.”

“But Marco’s horse is injured, sir,” Bertholdt says.

“Marco’s horse is on its way back to the castle. That’s how I knew you were in trouble. It sprinted past me as I was looking for you. It’s completely fine.” His eyes fall on to me. “For now, Marco, you can ride with Bertholdt.”

I nod and follow Bertholdt to his horse. Reiner has already mounted his steed and trots over to Levi. Bertholdt helps me up on to the horse and he sits behind me. “Is your back alright?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine.” It may be slightly sore, but I’m sure Jean will have something for it when I go see him this afternoon.

With that Levi gallops away, Reiner, Bertholdt and I following closely behind him.

As we pass through the trees, I can hear snarling unknown beings all around us. Now no longer ignorant to their existence, I shiver in the saddle and fist my hands in my tunic. “Levi, there’s something else out there,” I call.

“Of course there is. This forest is teeming with monsters.” He glances back at me. “Just keep riding and follow me.” 

We do as he says.

Eventually, I begin to see a glimmer of light coming through the trees. It's only small, but I have the feeling that it's our way out of this godforsaken place. Are we actually going to fit through there?

“Levi,” Reiner calls, “we can’t fit through that!” He must have read my mind.

“Trust me!” Levi shouts as his horse storms towards the light. We copy his actions and squint as the incoming light blinds us. I shield my eyes with my arm and slam them shut. The horse continues to gallop forwards. I coldness I felt inside me whilst I was in the forest slowly disappears. I feel lighter. Am I floating? I can’t feel the bumps of the horse’s hooves on the ground. I can’t hear Bertholdt’s panicked breathing. Just light.

 

* * *

 

“Marco,” a muffled voice calls. I force my heavy eyelids open and stare up at the familiar ceiling above me. I try to sit up, but a soft hand pushes me back down into the mattress. My head’s spinning. I realise that I’m back in my room.

“W-what happened?” I ask, rubbing my head.

“You fainted.” I turn to face Petra, sitting beside me.

This doesn’t make any sense.

“I need to see Jean.” I try to haul myself up, but Petra just pushes me back down.

“Not today, Marco.”

“I feel fine,” I protest.

“I don’t care. Just in case, you need to stay here. God only knows what happened to you out there.”

“Didn’t the others see?”

Petra shakes her head and sighs. “No. Bertholdt said that halfway back to the castle, you just collapsed. Apparently you had a run in with an orc and hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m fine. I need to see Jean. I promised I’d be there.”

Petra solemnly stares at me and shakes her head again. “I’m sorry, Marco. Under the Duke’s orders you are to stay in bed.” With that, she gets up and walks towards the door. Good. If I’m left alone, then I can sneak out. Petra turns to face me again. “You’d better still be there when I come back,” she warns.

No, I won’t.

I nod and pull my covers further up my body. She’s going to murder me later, but I never break a promise, and technically I didn’t promise Petra anything.

She nods and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I wait a few minutes before hauling myself out from underneath the covers and sit up. A surge of pain rushes to my head and I have to steady myself before trying to stand. I take in a deep breath and slowly stand up. If I make any sudden movements my head will start hurting again. As the pain dies down, I make my way over to the window and unclasp the latch, letting it fly open. I peer out and look at my surroundings. Luckily, no one seems to be wondering around these parts of the grounds.

Yes, I am going to climb out of the window... if I remember the way down.

I stare at the wall that lies between my room and the ground. Thick, green ivy twists and curls into the cracks of the walls, almost creating a staircase for me to climb down. Well, a very unreliable staircase. If you place one foot wrong between the leaves, then you’ll fall instantly.

I breathe in and climb onto the windowsill, staring down at the ground below me.

I haven’t done this in a while.

I lower myself down so that my feet are balancing on a thick branch and turn around to face the wall. I hook my fingers into one of the cracks in the wall where the ivy hasn’t reached and lower my right foot. At first I don’t feel a hard surface as I wiggle my foot around, trying to find a ledge. I lower myself a little more and find another branch to stand on. Holding onto another crack in the wall, I climb down a little more. I continue to do this whilst still checking around me for anyone who might see me, except for when I nearly lose my footing half way down the wall, nearly falling to my death.

When I finally reach the floor, I brush myself off and head towards the far side of the castle grounds. Desperately trying not to be seen by anyone, I make my way towards the wall that cuts out the rest of the world. I crouch down and pull away the leaves that hide away the human sized hole in the stone. The hole looks much smaller than I remember, but that’s probably because the last time I crawled out of it, I was only thirteen.

I suck in a breath and crouch down. The top half of my body slides through the tight space with ease... my bottom half, however, is a different story altogether. Luckily after wiggling my buttocks a few times (probably making myself look like an idiot) I manage to slip through.

For the first time in six years, I'm beginning to feel free again.

 

* * *

 

It takes me ages to get to Jean's shop. It's on the opposite side of Trost at the edge of the forest that I nearly died in earlier. I don't know how someone could live so close to that godforsaken place. 

I'm a little more apprehensive than I was yesterday as I approach the field between me and the shop. I walk a little slower as I try to reason with myself. Although Jean may live right outside the Forest of Tall Trees, he's a witch. He can take care of monsters. I hope.

I step into the field. I decide not to take the route through that I took yesterday, as I managed to get stuck in several rabbit holes whilst manoeuvring through the grass.

Sadly, as much as I try, this route is no different to the one I took yesterday, and I stumble over almost every rabbit hole in the field until I finally reach the door of the shop, which still doesn't have an open or closed sign.

Well, it has only been a day.

I take a deep breath and open the wooden door.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. It smells of rotting flesh in here, whereas I'm sure that the overpowering smell of lavender filled the shop yesterday.

Clearing my throat, I walk in further. I can't see Jean anywhere. "Hello?" I call.

The smell's really getting to me now. It's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my eyes are starting to water. I hold my breath.

Finally, I can hear footsteps coming closer and Jean walks into the room. The same scowl I saw yesterday is still there.

"Oh. It's you," he says.

"I did promise I'd be here," I manage to say whilst still holding my breath. My head is beginning to spin. I'm being childish. I can't hold my breath forever.

"Are you alright?" Jean asks, scowling harder at my face, which I'm sure is getting redder by the second.

"Mhm."

"Because you look like you've just shit yourself."

I shake my head.

"Are you holding your breath?" he laughs.

I shake my head again.

He takes on a more serious tone and folds his arms. "Marc, why are you holding your breath?"

He actually remembered my name. Well, not my real name. But he does remember me. I guess you would remember the person you nearly killed.

I allow myself to exhale, unfortunately letting the suffocating smell enter my senses again. I hold back a choke, trying to be polite. He is my host, and I don't think he realises how bad the place stinks.

"W-well, you see-I... um-" I'm making myself look like an idiot.

"Just say it."

"Well... i-it smells like something... died in here," I stammer. I wait for Jean to kick me out or curse me or something drastic... but he doesn't.

"Something did." He turns and walks away.

What? I hope he’s joking. I really hope he’s joking.

Hesitantly, I follow him into some kind of back room. It's small, but it looks like this is where Jean makes his concoctions. Small bottles of coloured liquids line the shelves on the walls, books are piled high on the desk on the other side of the room and- oh.

He wasn’t joking after all.

“W-what is that?” I stutter, pointing at the dead, clawed creature in the centre of the room, which Is bleeding- what is that? Green? Green blood?

“Gremlin. For some reason they quite like coming into my shop,” he grumbles. I can’t do anything but stare in horror at the corpse on the floor. It’s nothing compared to the orc, but it still looks terrifying. Jean turns to look at me. “What? Did you expect us to be casting love spells and making pretty potions when you asked to become my apprentice?” he smirks.

“N-no. I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks. I nod.

“Expect the unexpected,” he says. “Anything can happen here. I only realised this recently, but things are only going to get worse from now on. Although I do still need to make potions and what have you, which I will teach you, I've got bigger things to worry about now.” With that, Jean walks out of the room, beckoning me to follow him.

He leads me through another door and out the back entrance of the shop. As I step out into the fresh air, I quickly look up to be faced with the thick, black forest.

The same chill I felt earlier runs through me as I stare into the darkness.

“Do you see this forest, Marc?” Jean asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what’s in there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That saves a lot of explaining.”

I hear something move within the trees. Somehow, I have the feeling that nothing’s going to come out of there with Jean around, so I don't worry.

He stares blankly into the mist and sighs. “You do realise that becoming my apprentice is dangerous, right?”

“I do now.”

He takes a step closer towards the trees. “Things never used to come out of the forest. I used to play back here when I was younger with no worries at all. The creatures rarely came out, even at night. But things are changing. For now, it’s just gremlins that are stupid enough to come out of there, but who knows what will come out next. Compared to what else lives in there, gremlins are nothing, and other creatures are going to be making an appearance soon. Unfortunately, I’m the one who has to sort it out. Since you’re my apprentice now, I guess I’m going to have to train you to kill these things as well as teach you about potions and spells.” He turns to face me. “So, Marc, do you still want to be my apprentice?”

I can’t turn back now. I had the feeling from the beginning that this would be dangerous. But I need to do this. I owe it to myself to do this. To become a witch. I promised myself I’d do it, and now I have the chance.

Whether I die or not, I know that this is the right thing to do. I promised.

“Yes. I’m sure,” I confirm. I give him a soft smile, which soon fades as I look at the wide eyed stare he’s giving me. “What?” I ask.

“Your head’s bleeding,” he frowns. I lift my hand to my head. I feel my fingertips become wet. I take my hand away from my head and stare at my bloodied skin. “How the fuck did you do that?” he asks.

I shrug. "I must have done it this morning.”

Jean grabs my wrist and drags me back into the shop. I breathe in the air and notice that the smell of rotting gremlin flesh is now gone. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.

“It’s bleeding pretty fucking bad, Marc. What did you do? Walk into a tree?” He sits me down onto a stool and walks out again.

“I had a run in with an orc,” I call.

Jean soon returns with a bowl of water and a rag. His scowl looks harsher than before.

He places the bowl on the table and sits in front of me. “An orc?” he frowns. He tilts my head up and pushes my fringe away from my face. I can feel my blood trickling down my cheek.

“Yes. I went hunting in the forest this morning and-“

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Jean snaps. He dips the rag into the water and dabs it against my cheek, clearing away the blood.

“You know I didn’t actually realise that things like gremlins, vampires and orcs existed until this morning.” Jean presses the rag against my cut, sending a sharp pain through me. I hiss as he applies more pressure.

“Haven’t you ever been told what lives in there?”

“I heard stories when I was younger, but I never believed them.”

“So what exactly happened? I’m interested now.”

“Well, two friends and I went hunting in the forest and we spotted an orc. It started chasing us and I fell off my horse. I hurt my back pretty bad, but the head of the elite guard happened to have followed us in and he pretty much saved our lives.”

He takes the rag away from my head and hums at the blood-stained material. “Done,” he smiles, placing the rag in the bowl. “Now turn around.”

“E-excuse me?”

“You said your back hurts, didn’t you?”

“O-oh. Right.” I swivel round in my seat and lift up my shirt, exposing my lower back.

"Shit," Jean breathes.

"What?" He places his hand on me and a stabbing feeling radiates through my skin. "Ow!"

"You've got some serious bruising here."

"I do?"

"Mhm. Do you want me to heal it?"

"Is it really that bad?"

Jean nods and gets out of his seat. My eyes follow him to one of the shelves in the room. He traces his fingers along the various bottles of different shapes and sizes and finally picks up a small vial of some kind of purple oil.

"I think this is the right one," he hums as he sits back down again. He hikes my tunic higher up my back and rubs his hands together.

 I crane my neck to look at my bruise. It's a multitude of colours that certainly shouldn't be on a person's skin. The colours range from a ghastly blue, to deep purple and then to murky grey. It's covering almost the whole of my lower back.

How could I even have walked with that? I must have hit that bolder pretty hard.

"I need you to relax. This might sting a little," Jean says, dripping a small amount of oil into his palm. I nod and brace myself.

Carefully, Jean places his warm, moist hand on my back and begins to rub the oil into my bruise.

It aches at first, but as his movements get softer, I no longer feel any pain.

"This feels amazing," I breathe. "You need to teach me how to do this."

"I suggest that you sleep on your side tonight. Or at least try to. The bruise should feel a bit better in the morning." The warmth of his hand leaves my skin and I turn to face him again, pulling down my tunic.

"Thank you." He just shrugs at me. "How much?"

"What?" he frowns.

"How much do I need to pay you?"

"Nothing," he says. "Just don't come back here every time with a new injury."

"I know better now," I chuckle.

The black cat from yesterday jumps up into my lap, startling me. It nuzzles its head into my chest, purring softly at me, begging for attention. Eventually, I give in and run my hand along its spine.

"I think he likes you," Jean smiles. "That's odd. He usually can't stand other people."

"What's its name?" I ask.

"Gumbie. He's my familiar."

"What's a familiar?"

Gumbie decides that he's bored with me and hops onto Jean's lap instead. He meows at him for some attention and Jean gives him a long, loving stroke. "Legend says that familiars are supernatural beings that... support a witch, in a way. Most people say they're demons, but in reality, they're just guides. Gumbie just happens to be mine. He makes sure I don't do anything stupid and if he doesn't like someone, then I probably won't like them either. He's better at judging people than me."

"So it's a good thing that he likes me then?" I laugh. 

Jean nods.

I make real eye contact with him for a second time.

Unlike yesterday when the sunset emitted its glaring orange light into the shop, making Jean's eyes seem a radiant saffron, today his eyes seem different.

I've always been told that you can learn a lot from someone's eyes. You can learn anything from their darkest secrets, to their hopes and dreams. That's why I can't help but be captivated by Jean's.

I can't see anything in his eyes. Just the colour of whiskey against a raging fire. He’s a mystery to me.

They're the most beautiful colour I've ever seen. They're not a simple brown, but a luminous gold. I've never seen anything like them.

"What?" Jean frowns. I snap out of my thoughts and stare blankly at him.

"Sorry?"

"You were staring at me."

"Oh. Sorry. I-it's just that... your eyes. They're such a peculiar colour." 

Jean huffs and places Gumbie on the floor. He leans in closer to me and I feel as if he's staring right through me. I can feel his warm breath against my skin. "Why aren't you frightened of me, Marc?" he asks.

"Why would I be?"

"Because people say things about me, and most of it is true."

"So should I be scared of you?"

His eyes leave mine and he turns away from me. He sighs. "Probably."

"Jean,” I begin. He looks up at me again. “Whether you frighten me or not won't make me want to be your apprentice any less. I made myself a promise that I'd do this, and you're my only hope of learning. I'm not frightened of you and I don't believe that you're as bad as people say you are. What kind of apparently awful person would treat someone's bleeding head, and heal someone's bruised back that they only just met the previous day. However, what I am frightened of, are the creatures that live in your back garden. But that's okay, because you are too. You're just like everyone else."

He lets off a breathy laugh and shakes his head. I expect him to retaliate, but he doesn’t do anything. “I’m sorry I didn’t actually teach you anything today,” he says, completely dismissing what I just said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He nods. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to make love potions, since they seem to be our best seller at the moment.”

“Sounds fun,” I chuckle.

He shrugs. “They’re pretty hard to make, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

I take this as my queue to leave and I get out of my seat. “Thank you, Jean.”

“For what?”

“Well, lots of things. My head, my back, agreeing to teach me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles. “Really. Don’t mention it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“What? The one where you’re an awful person?”

“Yes. That one,” he laughs.

I walk over to the door of the shop and open it, allowing the fresh air to fill the shop. “Don’t worry, Jean, your secret’s safe with me,” I smile. He rolls his eyes at me and walks away, disappearing into the back room. With that, I close the door and head back to the castle.

My back doesn’t hurt at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's not as long as the last one, but oh well!
> 
> In the next chapter, expect mishaps including love potions and a certain mythical pain in the ass (hint: it's not a gremlin).  
> The song that Marco was singing in the forest will become incredibly important throughout the course of the story. I won't explain why, but you'll see...
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	3. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of things to say, so here goes...
> 
> First of all, wow. Thank you so much for all the nice comments I've been getting! I actually screenshot them all and look back at them whenever I feel bad about my writing, so thank you very much!  
> Secondly, this chapter's pretty long. I do apologise, but loads of important things happen, which brings me on to my third point...  
> Let the smut commence! But it's not jeanmarco smut (sorry!) it's erejean. I apologise if that's your NOTP, but it does play an important part in Jean's character development, plus, it is only a past relationship.  
> Also, there's a bit of blood business in this chapter towards the end, so if you're a bit squeamish, you have been warned.  
> Finally, I apologise in advance for what you're about to read. You'll see why.
> 
> Enjoy!

Marc’s odd. Really odd.

I don’t know how to describe it. He isn’t frightened of me. He doesn’t want to avoid me. He thinks I’m… a decent human being, and he’s nice to me. I know that ‘nice’ isn’t exactly a very descriptive word, but that’s what he is. He’s simply nice. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t know what he’s heard about me exactly, but it can’t be good. However, judging by the way he acts around me, he probably doesn’t know about my powers. That’s definitely a fucking good thing. Most people run for the hills the second they realise that I’m a freak.

Alright, ‘freak’ is probably a little harsh. But I’ve heard it plenty of times. I guess ‘abnormal’ probably suits me better.

But Marc doesn’t treat me like that. Although he came to my shop on that day to see my mother, not me, he still accepted me.

Most people just want to see my mother, never me. As soon as they realise that she’s not around, they go without giving me a second thought.

I’m just there. I’m not important. I’m not needed.

That’s the way it’s always been. I’ve gotten used to it over the years, although I had trouble dealing with rejection when I was a child. But eventually I shrugged it off and accepted that people were just scared of me.

When I was ten, my mother was called to the local orphanage as the measles had broken out and many of the children were getting sick. I had to come with her, and that’s when I met Connie and Armin. A year later, I met Eren and his sister Mikasa. They weren’t orphans, just old childhood friends of Armin’s. We all hit it off instantly and we’ve all been friends ever since. Well, until I nearly fucked everything up by becoming rather fond (obsessed) with Mikasa, much to Eren’s disapproval.

But that was all sorted. Eren and I were fine again and we just moved on. But then I fucked up again and mine and Eren’s relationship has never really been the same since. But that’s another story.

However, Mikasa left Trost two years ago to train to be in the Garrison force, and we don’t really hear from her as much anymore.

For a while, there was a pretty big gap in the group and we always felt like someone was missing.

Then Connie met Sasha and they fell in love.

There’s no point in going into details about that. It’s pretty self-explanatory.

Although we all miss Mikasa, we do love having Sasha around. As much as I hate to say it, she and Connie are a good match.

I digress.

Marc. He’s different.

I haven’t known him all my life nor have any reason to know him whatsoever. He’s a complete stranger to me, yet he’s like a breath of fresh air. He’s new. He’s not like everyone else, and I don’t know whether to be glad or fucking terrified about that.

I’m terrified because if he does ever find out that I have powers (of course he will, it’s inevitable), I’m scared that he’ll just reject me like everyone else before him.

I don't really want him to go. I like him. He's easy to talk to, he's a nice person and I like the company.

He accepts me. I just hope it stays that way.

 

* * *

 

I’m not really one for talking about the weather. It’s pointless small talk that I can’t be bothered with. But this is different. I haven’t seen a storm this bad in years. By looks of things I’m going to be alone today. No customers and probably no Marc.

Rain’s hammering down like nobody’s business, clattering against the windows that occasionally swing open, due to the gale force winds that are storming through Trost. The inky sky erupts with sudden bursts of white light with jagged edges, making unfamiliar shadows on the walls, and the fields have become more like marshlands, caped in thick mud and deep pools of water.

No one’s getting through there any time soon.

But it’s June. There shouldn’t be storms like this in summer, and that’s why this is terrifying to me.

This doesn’t make any sense. Nothing that's happened recently makes sense. It just doesn't fit.

The plague has broken out in Jinae, but nowhere else, and it isn’t spreading. Creatures from the forest are becoming more confident and are coming out of the shadows and storms are raging in summer.

I don’t know whether this is to do with what’s going on in Jinae or this ‘Darkness’, but if it is, I don’t think this is black magic. No one is powerful enough to control a storm like this. I’m the only living witch with powers (as far as I know) and I definitely can’t do that. In fact, I don’t even know what _I_ can do.

On the other hand, I could be completely wrong and this is all just a huge coincidence. There just happens to be some shitty weather at the moment and this really just some idiot fucking around with black magic.

Though I’m doubtful.

I guess this is what happens when I’m alone: I think up reasons as to why this world is crumbling.

How morbid of me.

A blow of gust forces one of the windows open, making the panes clatter against one another, snapping me out of my thoughts. Splashes of rain from outside gush in through the space, colliding with my skin and making my tunic soak against my body. Turning to face the window, I struggle against the elements and finally slam the window shut, unfortunately managing to get my face absolutely soaking wet. Grumbling, I dry my face with my sleeve and consider just going back to bed. It’s not like I’m going to see anyone today.

Gumbie pounces onto the counter and meows at me. “No. I’m going back to bed,” I mumble. He meows again. “No one’s going to come here in this weather, Gumbie.” He glares at me. Curse my cat and his good morals.

“Fine. I’ll stay up.”

I slump down onto the stool behind the counter and open up the random book next to me. I might as well do some reading; there isn’t really anything else to do. This book happens to be about herbs and their natural healing powers. How boring.

I can’t really be bothered to get up for another one, so this will have to do. Feeling sorry for myself, I open up the book on a random page and begin reading.

_Belladonna (Deadly Nightshade) is one of the most toxic plants found in the world. The berries are misleading to our eyes, as they look attractive and have a sweet taste. However, if the berries are eaten, it will be fatal to a human. The root of the plant is generally the most toxic part, though this can vary from one specimen to another._

_The symptoms of belladonna poisoning include sensitivity to light, blurred vision, loss of balance, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, confusion, hallucinations and delirium._

Gumbie starts meowing again before I can get any further.

“What is it now?” I snap. Gumbie ignores my mood and begins clawing at the door, yowling at me. “Gumbie, you’re not going outside.”

He ignores me.

I roll my eyes and get out of my seat, heading towards him. He’s still scratching. I lean down and try to pull him away. Gumbie retaliates by snapping his head around to face me and lets off a terrifying hiss. I jump back in shock. Gumbie hasn’t hissed at me since I stood on his tail a few years ago… it was an accident. I promise.

“You really want to go outside, don’t you?” Gumbie finally relaxes and retreats away from the door.

Brilliant. He’s made a masterpiece on the wood. I’m going to have fun explaining that to mother.

“I really don’t like you sometimes, Gumbie,” I sigh, opening the door.

The wind and rain hit me like a slap to the face, raging into the shop and making my crystals fall over. Fuck. I can’t see anything. All I see is the thick fog that has engulfed the marsh that was once a field, rain hammering down and shadows of twisting and turning blades of grass.

“Gumbie, you’ll be blown away!” I shout into the hurricane. I look behind me, only to see Gumbie making himself comfortable on the counter.

If he didn’t want to go out, then why the fuck was he making such a fuss over the door being closed?

I’m just about to slam the door shut and go back to my reading, when I look out into the storm one more time.

_Jean!_

What? Someone’s out there?

_Jean!_

I know that voice.

I run out into the storm, becoming instantly soaked. Shielding my eyes, I edge further into the fog, attempting to look for the voice.

“Hello?” I call. I look around me, desperately trying to find the owner of the voice. All I see is grey and mysterious shadows crawling all around me.

_Please!_

He’s screaming. Oh fuck he’s screaming. I need to find him. I must find him.

_I’m begging you!_

It will be alright. I will find you.

I run further into the haze, still screaming out for him. I can hear his voice. It’s so clear. It’s like he’s right next to me. He sounds so hurt. Every time he screams my name, I can feel my heart clench.

_Jean!_

Don’t scream my name like that. Please, I’m begging you. It hurts.

The shadows are getting closer now. I can feel them wrapping around my ankles and wrists. They're constricting my chest. It hurts. The weight of them presses down against me. I can't breathe.

_No! Please!_

Fuck the shadows. They’re not important. I need to find him.

I grapple free from their grasp and start running. I don’t know where, but I just need to follow his voice.

“I’m coming for you!” I scream.

I know that voice. I know that voice. I know that voice.

_Please! You’ve got it wrong!_

I’m sorry. I’m running as fast as I can. I’m trying.

“I’m trying! I can’t find you!”

The shadows are clinging to me again. They won’t let go of me. I try to pull away from them, but their grip’s too strong. I’m trapped. I can’t get away.

They’re closing in on me. They’re getting tighter. I feel them crawling against my skin. My limbs are throbbing. I'm going numb. My head's spinning. I can't see anything. Let me go. Please. I need to find him.

_Please._

There’s nothing I can do. I’m a prisoner of the shadow’s grip. The blackness is spreading through my blood. Everything is slowing down. The dark tendrils coil around my limbs, pressing against my chest, strangling me. They've taken over.

I can’t find you.

I’m sorry.

"…Jean!"

 

* * *

 

My eyes flutter open to be faced with the sun streaming through the windows, almost blinding me.  I shield my eyes with my arm and squint to try and get a better look at my surroundings.

Oh. I’m in my room.

I look out the window again. The sun is definitely out to play. Did I dream all of that? It didn’t feel like a dream.

The grip I felt around my wrists seemed so real, and I swear at one point I was floating. That voice I heard was crystal clear in my mind. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck… whoever ‘he’ was.

But it’s over now. It was just a dream. It doesn’t matter.

I rub my eyes and look down at myself to see that I’m no longer in the clothes I was wearing earlier. In fact, I’m only wearing my trousers and my tunic is nowhere to be seen.

I must have dreamt it. It was nothing. Just a nightmare.

My stomach makes an obscene noise as it cries out to me. I feel completely empty. I need food.

Heaving my heavy body out of bed, I make my way downstairs and into the shop. I don’t really give a fuck if I’m half naked, I want food.

The room I call my kitchen is actually just another spare room at the back of the house with a table, two chairs, a tiny fireplace, a few pots and bowls and some shelves to keep the food on. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I think.

I storm over to the shelves and stare at their contents, my stomach’s screaming at me.

There’s nothing. No food. All gone.

Fuck. Looks like I’m going to have to go to the market.

I stamp back out of the kitchen. I’m too tired to have to go out right now.

As I pass the doorway of the back room, something catches my eye. I freeze and hesitantly peer into the room. It looks undisturbed.

“Hello?” I ask.

Smart, Jean. Really fucking smart. If it’s someone who’s come here to kill you they’re not exactly going to pop out and say ‘hello’, are they?

I stand there completely still, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

But there's nothing. Just pure blissful silence.

I breathe a sigh of relief. It was probably Gumbie.

“Jean?”

The sudden voice startles me and I nearly jump out of my skin. I snap my head around to scowl at… Marc.

Why's he here so early? At least, I think it's early.

"You're awake," he smiles. I stare down at myself and instantly remember that I'm still half naked. I fling my arms to my chest to try and get some kind of coverage, but judging by the way Marc’s giggling at me, I’m not doing a very good job.

I give up.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I sigh, leaning against the wall. “Why are you here so early?”

“Nice to see you too, Jean,” he laughs as he runs a hand through his hair. The strands of jet black only stick up for a second after he takes his hand away, and fall perfectly back into place. “It’s not early, though. It’s mid-afternoon.”

“Excuse me?” I frown and step away from the wall to face Marc completely. I don’t usually sleep that late.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

Marc’s face drops. “You really can’t remember anything?”

“Marc, what the fuck are you talking about?” I snap.

He looks slightly taken aback by my sudden outburst and he flinches away from me. I probably should have warned him that I’m pretty irritable when I first wake up.

He straightens himself up and begins worrying at his bottom lip. “W-well… I was on my way to see you and as I was passing through the field and a torrential storm, I heard you screaming. When I found you, you were unconscious. I carried you in, but because you were soaking wet I had to… change you.” He stares down at the floor as his cheeks darken and scratches the back of his neck. He seems to do that a lot. “I-I didn’t take your trousers off, though. That would be inappropriate. But I did clean you up. You had a bit of mud on your face.”

So it wasn’t a dream after all. It was all real. The voice. The shadows. The storm. The blackout.

“Thank you,” I nod. “Really. Thank you.”

He shakes his head and waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. It’s what anyone would do.” He stares at the floor again and the slight upright turn at the corner of his mouth has gone. “Jean, why were you out there in that storm?”

I say nothing.

“Why were you screaming?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I turn away from him and walk into the back room. He’ll think I’m mad if I tell him.

I grab a book off one of the shelves and flick through the pages. “Right. Love potions. I’m going to teach you how to make a love potion today, Marc.” I look up to find him standing in the doorway with his arms folded, staring at me with glazed over eyes and tight lips. His shakes his head at me and takes a step closer.

“Jean,” he says dryly, “do you have any idea how terrified I was earlier?”

“No. But I have the feeling you’re going to tell me.” I drop down into the chair by my desk and lazily throw the book on the table. Marc’s eyes are still burning into me. I can feel them watching my every move.

“Yes, I am.” He finally unfolds his arms and the tension in his shoulders disappears. “Jean, you were screaming. Every time I heard you… I felt like I’d been stabbed. With every one that followed, the knife just buried itself deeper into my chest. When I found you I honestly thought you were dead. It wasn’t until I brought you in that I realised you were still…” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Of course, it just falls back into its neat parting. He lifts his head to stare me in the eyes. “It would hurt anyone if they heard someone screaming like that. But I consider you my friend, Jean. That just made it so much worse. I was terrified. What happened out there?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You must know.”

“You’ll think I’m mad.”

“I already think you’re mad. That opinion hasn’t changed since the day you nearly killed me.”

“You trespassed.”

“Just answer the question.”

I lean back in the chair and let the air fill my chest. I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I told him. He did take care of me after all. “Fine,” I sigh. He nods, encouraging me to continue. I lean forwards and intertwine my hands. An aching pain begins growing in my gut. “I heard someone screaming my name.” My eyes flick up to Marc’s tall figure, towering above me.

“What?” he frowns.

I nod. “I went into the storm to find them, but… I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t see or hear anyone.”

“That’s why I think I’m going mad,” I laugh. “But it was so real. I could feel his breath on my neck.” Almost like an instant reaction, I reach my hand to cup the back of my neck, in the same place where I’d felt him.

“Him?”

I nod. “He was calling out to me for help. I didn’t even recognise his voice.” The feeling in my gut starts crawling up towards my throat. I try to cough it back down, but it won’t go away. I hold my hand to my cheek and turn away from him as I feel the dampness of my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

My vision becomes blurred and my skin heats up. I let out a choked sob. “What kind of person am I if I don’t even recognise the voice of someone who’s begging me for help?” My breathing hitches as I try to hold back the pathetic cries spilling from my mouth. My eyes fall on Marc. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with me. That’s fine. I don’t even know what to do with myself.

“Jean,” he says barely over a whisper, “I don’t think you’re mad.”

“You don’t?” I sniff.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Then why the fuck am I hearing voices and hallucinating shadows?” I sob.

“You never said anything about shadows.”

I wipe away the dampness from my skin in hope of maintaining some kind of dignity and look up to find Marc pulling up another stool to sit in front of me. He glares into my own gaze and doesn’t take his eyes off me. His usual smile is now long gone and he looks… worried. “Jean, talk to me,” he begs. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but you can talk to me. I’m not going to think you’re mad or crazy. I want to help you. Like I said, I consider you my friend and friends help each other, right?”

“Right,” I sniff.

“Tell me about the shadows.”

I breathe in slowly. I can feel Marc watching the way my shoulders rise slightly every time the air fills me, and the way my eyes flicker around the room trying to avoid his warm eyes. I breathe out again. “Whilst I was out there… these shadows started clinging onto me. Just tendrils of black nothingness wrapping themselves around my wrists and my ankles. They were pulling me away from the voice, like they didn’t want me to find it. Then they won and everything went black. It’s as simple as that. I don’t know what they are. I don’t know what they want. But they certainly didn’t want me to find that voice.”

I don’t know whether the look spreading across his face is genuine shock or he just thinks I belong in a loony bin.

"I don't really know what to say to you.”

"It doesn't really matter. I wasn't thinking straight anyway."

Marc sighs. "Jean, you're not mad."

Really? Then why did my body hurt so much whilst I was out there in that field? Why am I hearing voices? Why am I so attached to a voice that I don't even recognise? Why was he screaming? Who is he?

"Jean," Marc whispers. He leans in closer to me. Too close. "Jean you're--" He stops himself to reach out to my cheek and smears more pathetic tears across my skin. His skin’s so soft against mine. I want—

“Don’t.” I push his hand away and finish wiping away my pride myself. When I look back at him he’s staring at the floor again.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Fuck he feels bad. Well done, Jean, you fucked up again.

“N-no it’s fine I just…” I shut myself up before I make it worse. I can’t exactly say ‘don’t get close to me’, can I?

People who get close to me get hurt. That’s just the way it is. It’s already happened to Eren, I don’t want it to happen to Marc.

In the midst of the every growing awkward silence between us, my stomach decides to groan out of frustration. “Fuck,” I mutter.

“Do you want some food?” Marc asks, finally detaching his line of sight from the old wooden floorboards.

“There isn’t any.”

“I made you soup.”

“Soup? You’ve only just remembered that now?”

He shrugs sheepishly as his cheeks darken. “Do you want some?”

“What’s in it?” I frown.

“Anything I could find.”

I chuckle. “Ah. So it was you who cleared me out of food.”

The discomfort between us slowly begins to ease as we shoot one another a small half-smile. “Sorry,” he says.

“Marc, it’s fine,” I chuckle. “Yes, I’d love some.” Right on queue my stomach rumbles again.

He tries to choke back a slight laugh as he rises and disappears out of the back room, stumbling a few times on his way.

“Uh, Jean,” he calls only a few moments later.

“Yes?”

“…The soup’s cold.”

Of course it is.

“Do you still want it?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?”

He soon comes back into the room holding a wooden bowl that should have had steam coming out of it. A proud grin spreads across his face as he cautiously places it on the table.

“So you made this yourself whilst I was asleep?”

He hums and nods his head. I peer into the contents of the bowl.

Fucking hell. That doesn’t look appealing.

It’s some kind of murky orange colour with… what the fuck? Broccoli? Broccoli floating around. It looks like he just got someone to vomit into the bowl.

But I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I’ve done that already.

I lift the bowl to my lips and allow the odd smell to enter my senses. It’s not putrid, but it isn’t nice.

I glance over the edge of the bowl to look at Marc’s eager expression. I’m going to have to at least try this.

Reluctantly, I take a sip of the soup. The thick consistency slides down my throat instantly and it’s not cold, it’s just the same temperature as my skin. That’s even worse. The overpowering taste of carrots and broccoli dances on my tongue and… this isn’t as bad as I anticipated.

“How is it?” Marc grins.

 I take the bowl away from my lips and smile at him. “Weird. But it doesn’t make me want to throw up, so I’ll eat it.”

“That’s better than nothing,” he chuckles.

I quickly swallow the rest of the soup and wipe my face with my arm. “Thank you, Marc. That wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now the awkwardness has left us, I return to my usual ‘confident’ act.

“You haven’t cooked a day in your life, have you?” I laugh.

“Nope. Never needed to.”

I let off a breathy laugh. “Of course. I keep forgetting that you work for the prince.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he muses.

“Why? Is he the magnificent ‘prince charming’ that everyone makes him out to be?” I snap. Marc’s face drops instantly. His lips become a tight, thin line and his brows furrow.

Here we go again. Well done, Jean.

“He’s not like that,” Marc mutters.

“Then what is he like? Because no one seems to know,” I ask. I try not to sound like I’m snapping at him, but I think it comes out more like a demand rather than a genuine interest.

Marc shrugs. “What have you got against him?”

“Quite a lot. I’m not a huge fan of the royal family.”

“ _Why_ , though?” He sounds offended about that. I know he’s the prince’s man-servant, but he can’t be that close with him, can he?

I roll my tongue around the inside of my mouth and along my teeth, trying to think of how the hell I’m going to summarise how much I detest the royal family.

“The royal family don’t give a fuck about their people. I’ve seen plenty of crap, Marc, and it’s not nice. The majority of Trost is living in poverty, and do you know what the king’s doing with the money that could be used to help them?” Stunned, Marc shakes his head slowly, allowing what I’m saying to sink in. “He’s spending it on banquets to spoil his son. I don’t care if it’s the prince’s fucking birthday. There are more important things that need to be taken care of and the king and his son have no idea that people are dying right under their noses. Of course you wouldn’t know any of this because you spend all your time by the prince’s side like an obedient puppy and haven’t seen the horrors that I’ve seen.”

I shouldn't have said that.

I can see the hurt in Marc’s eyes. Being stabbed in the chest would be less painful than looking into those blank, expressionless eyes.

“Jean, don’t say things like that,” he exhales. “I know the prince better than anyone and he’s nothing like that. He knows nothing about the outside world. He doesn’t get told anything about what goes on outside the castle walls. He just stays in his room all day like he’s in a cage. How can you think of him as some kind of monster who doesn’t care about his people, when he doesn’t even know what’s going on himself?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” he breathes.

I’m really fucking up today. I’ve hurt Marc’s feelings twice and even when things were just becoming less weird, I messed up again. He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s just gazing around the room taking in all the different charms and amulets I’ve collected throughout my life. He’s avoiding my eyes. I don’t blame him.

“Is it really that bad?” he suddenly asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Poverty. Is it really that bad?”

He turns to face me again. Clearly I’m not the only one who just had an internal war.

I nod. “Lots of people are dying, let’s just put it that way.”

“I had no idea,” he says, bewilderment taking over his expressions. “That’s awful.”

Maybe he’ll tell the prince that. “The people are starving, the streets are crawling with disease and the majority of people are living in gutters. It’s not nice.”

Marc’s eyes travel down my body. Due to my lack of clothes, this allows the true extent of my scrawniness to sink in. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. I watch as his face turns pale. He holds his hands to his mouth and I can’t help but listen to his rushed, muffled breathing.

Am I really that skinny?

“S-stand up? Please?” he stammers.

Frowning, I get out of my seat and look down at him. It’s quite nice being momentarily taller than him. He gazes up at me and soon follows me upwards. He stares at my body, fright running through his features. He runs a finger down the abnormal shape of my ribs protruding out of my sickly white skin. I shudder under his touch.

“You look terrible,” he states. It’s not an insult though, it’s concern. The amount of anxiety seeping through his lips is enough to make any man shiver, and I do.

“There are people worse off than me,” I huff. Pushing his hand away, I sit back down and attempt to cover myself by leaning forwards. The stare Marc’s giving me is making me uncomfortable.

He sits down too, his face still blank. “I’m sorry,” he gulps.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. I made you worry and it’s not your problem. I should be apologising, not you.”

Marc looks up at me and gives me a half-hearted smile. “It’s important, though. If there really are people who are in worse situations, then it needs to be taken care of. I’ll talk to the prince, maybe he can help.”

I doubt it. But I nod anyway.

“You’re pretty close with him, huh?”

He shrugs. “You could say that.”

How close exactly? He seems pretty defensive when it comes to the prince. And he does praise him a lot…

“Are you two…?” Here I go, jumping to conclusions again. I really do have word vomit today.

“No!” Marc squeaks. He clears his throat. “I mean, of course not. I mean… that’s…”

Don’t say it.

“… illegal.”

He said it.

"Marc," I sigh, "what's your opinion on... that?" I lace my fingers together and make my thumbs wrestle between themselves, waiting for his response.

"W-well... I'm not sure," he stammers. " _Why_?" He drags the word out in a low, slightly concerned tone.

I can't look at him. I keep staring at my calloused fingers. Don't look him in the eye when he rejects you.

“Are you…?” he murmurs.

I lift my head to be faced with Marc's wide eyes and tight lips. Is he flinching away from me?

"You are, aren’t you," he breathes.

"Not exactly.” I don’t know how to explain this. It’s not every day you need to explain these things. “I guess I’m just… me? I don’t even know myself. If I like someone, then I like someone. That’s it.”

“That’s a good way to look at things,” he smiles.

I shrug. “So, do we have a problem?”

“None at all,” he beams. “If I’m honest I’m more… interested, rather than shocked. I mean have you ever, well, you know—“

“Yes I have.” There’s no point in putting it lightly, and the look on his face is absolutely priceless. I can’t tell whether he’s stunned or traumatised. “Problem, Marc?”

I take great amusement in the way his cheeks darken for the umpteenth time today. “Still none. It’s just…” He sits silently for a moment, and then speaks again. “How do two men actually manage to do that?”

I can’t help but burst into laughter. He’s so innocent it’s adorable. My chest starts hurting. I’m probably laughing a little too hard. I calm myself down and lean in closer to him so that our noses are almost touching. I allow a ‘seductive’ smirk to slide across my face and in my most sickeningly smooth voice I purr, “I can show you if you want.” His cheeks instantly flush the most vibrant red I have ever seen. “I’m joking!” I laugh, patting him on the shoulder. It probably doesn’t help that I’m only half dressed. He allows himself to giggle slightly and the blush slowly dies down. I sit back down, still grinning at him.

“You’re not my type anyway,” I reassure him.

“No? I always thought I was quite attractive,” he… did he just wink at me? Look who’s coming out of their shell.

“Hey, don’t get too full of yourself. It’s my job to be the self-absorbed asshole.”

“Of course. Your reputation.”

Now that he mentions it, I admit, he’s pretty handsome.  I’m allowed to appreciate his face, aren’t I? Like the way his freckles mostly cluster around his cheeks, the way his soft brown eyes seem to take everything in, his strong, angular jawline and the fact that he looks as if he’d have absolutely no trouble picking me up princess style. Despite my scrawny figure, I’m actually pretty heavy. It must be the fact that I sit on my ass all fucking day.

“It’s getting late,” Marc murmurs.

I snap back to reality. Glancing out of the window I notice the sky slowly turning a pale pink with wisps of light purple and illuminating orange floating in the heavens.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“It’s been two days since we met and I still haven’t taught you anything. I’m a terrible teacher,” I chuckle.

“Promise you’ll teach me something tomorrow, then?” he smiles.

“Sure.”

He stands up and holds his hand out towards me. Probably a little too quickly, I clasp my own around his and he pulls me off my seat.

I clear my throat. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course you will,” he says as he shakes my hand.

Tilting my head slightly – bad idea, Kirschtein—I look up so that I’m looking at him properly. I think we got rid of personal space issues a while ago. There’s hardly any space between the two of us. Just enough room for us to shake hands.

He lets go of me and turns away with a grin on his face. I follow him into the main shop and watch him walk towards the door. He pauses and turns to face me again. “See you tomorrow, Jean,” he beams.

“See you tomorrow.”

Hopefully I won’t fuck up next time.

 

* * *

 

_“Are you ready?” I asked._

_“Jean, my arms hurt. Why can’t I lie on my back?” he grumbled._

_I stared down at the boy on all fours in front of me. His bare, tanned skin glistened in the pale moonlight shining in from the open window, casting shadows across his bare back. I couldn’t see his face as he was turned away from me, but I assumed that he was wearing a prominent scowl. When didn’t he?_

_“Just deal with it. You won’t be complaining once we’re actually doing this,” I sighed._

_“But I want to see your face.”_

_“I said ‘no’, Eren.”_

_He sighed and hung his head a little lower, exposing himself a little more for me._

_“Are you ready, then?” I asked again._

_He twisted his head to face me. Those bright green eyes shone as the light of the sky hit them. They were all I could see in the pitch black of his bedroom._

_“Did you put the oil on?” he asked._

_“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot.”_

_“Then I’m ready.” He turned away from me again and spread his legs a little wider. “Are_ you _ready, though?”_

_I rolled my eyes and lined myself up with his entrance. “Shut up.”_

_Slowly, I pressed into him a little. The way Eren felt around me was tight, hot and absolutely incredible. He clenched down around me as he got used to the feeling, then inhaled a sharp breath. I froze._

_“Are you alright?” I asked._

_“Mhm, just be careful.”_

_I placed my hand on his hip to steady myself and pushed further into him, slower than I did before. The lewd moan Eren elicited was enough to wake the whole neighbourhood._

_“Be quiet,” I hissed. “Isn’t Mikasa in the next room or something?”_

_“She left for Jinae three days ago, we’re fine,” he dismissed._

_“What about your uncle?”_

_Eren stays silent for a moment._

_“Shit.”_

_“Exactly. I’m glad you’re enjoying this so much, despite the fact that I’ve only got half my dick in your ass, but I’d be a bit quieter if I were you.”_

_“Then stop talking and carry on!”_

_I responded by shoving myself the rest of the way inside him, causing him to wince. That was a little harsh of me, but I didn’t care. I just needed release._

_I began to set a slow pace for Eren to get used to. I had to consider him a little bit, at least. He buried his head into the pillow, allowing the odd grunt to slip past his lips._

_But that wasn’t enough for me. I needed more._

_I grabbed his hips a little tighter, slightly digging my nails into his skin and rolled my hips a little faster. Eren gripped the sheets beneath him and moaned into the pillow._

_Better. But I still wanted more._

_The slap of skin on skin was becoming louder as my thrusts got progressively harder. I choked back a strangled moan, remembering Eren’s uncle fast asleep only a few doors away. I wished I had a pillow myself. Instead I bit down on my lip hard enough to make it bleed and kept ramming into Eren’s tight heat._

_He lifted his head away from the pillow and gasped. “J-Jean.”_

_“What?”_

_“D-do that again.”_

_“Do what again?” I panted._

_“I don’t know.”_

_I sighed. “Helpful.”_

_I began rolling into him again, only to be interrupted a few moments later by Eren groaning my name. Clearly I was doing something right, so I kept going._

_My nails kept digging into his hips harder and harder as I tried to hold back my moans that only came out as slight grunts and mumbles. I was having trouble holding back._

_I leant over Eren’s quivering body and nuzzled into the back of his neck, trying to keep my thrusts as even as possible. I breathed in the smell of sweat and desperation. This only made me want release more._

_“Fuck,” I exhaled._

_I dragged my tongue across his glistening skin and couldn’t help but moan into his ear as he clenched down around me. What we were experiencing then felt so much better than what we’d done earlier. What happened before was satisfying, but not like right then. I was in control. I controlled his movements. I controlled his lewd noises. The power surging through me was electrifying, and it was growing stronger. I could feel it building up in my gut._

_“J-Jean, I—“_

_“I know.”_

_I bit down on Eren’s shoulder and rammed into him harder. I tried to hold back, but I couldn’t. I groaned into the clammy skin of his neck._

_With a gasp he fisted the white fabric beneath us and cried out as he spilled onto them, his body going limp as I continued to push into him. It didn’t take long until my hips began to stutter and my thrusts became uneven. Moaning into the crook of his neck, I reached my release._

_We stayed like that for a few moments, not saying a word to one another. The only sound that could be heard in that room were the sounds of our out of sync gasps for air and the cool breeze from outside._

_Eventually I pulled away from him and he instantly let his fucked out body drop onto the mattress, burying his face into the pillow._

_Trying not to brush against him, I stood up and began searching for my clothes. The instant I took a pace towards my tunic, I stepped on a creaky floorboard, making Eren roll over to face me._

_“What are you doing?” he asked._

_“Finding my clothes,” I grumbled, picking my tunic off the floor and bundling it into my arms._

_“Why?” He sat up to look at me properly. The disappointment on his face sent a shiver down my spine._

_“I have work in the morning.”_

_He scoffed and shook his head. “So that’s it, then? You fuck me and then you leave. Is that how you intended this to happen?”_

_“What do you want me to do, Eren?”_

_He flipped over a corner of the white cotton sheet and slipped underneath it, resting his head on the pillow and gazing at me. He patted the empty space next to him and smiled. “Get in and hold me until the morning.”_

_I shook my head. “What will your uncle say if he finds us lying in bed naked?”_

_“Hannes gets up and goes to work before I do. He won’t disturb us.”_

_“You have an excuse for everything, don’t you?” He just nodded smugly at me. “What would happen if I said ‘no’?”_

_Eren’s face fell, his green eyes slowly turned darker and he sat up again. “Jean, I just gave you something I can never take back, the least you can do is stay.”_

_I sighed. “Fine.”_

_I dropped my tunic onto the floor and slid between the sheets. Eren shifted over a little to make more room for me and I wrapped my arms around him, staring into those piercing emerald eyes. I felt his chest rise and fall against mine and his warm breath brushing against my skin._

_In a sudden impulse… I kissed him._

_Eren and I fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and calmed breathing, in sync and undisturbed._

_When the sun appeared over the horizon and beamed through the open window, I awoke to find Eren still fast asleep in my arms._

_As he’s a heavy sleeper and I’m not, I had no trouble getting out of there as quickly as I could before I got too attached._

_I left him to wake up alone._

_Not talking to someone for two years who used to be your best friend seems like an eternity. It’s one of those scars that never quite leaves you._

 

* * *

 

Why am I remembering that now? That was nearly three years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. It’s like it never happened.

But we both know it did. Everyone knows.

Leaving him like that was the worst thing I’ve ever done. Some days I even wish that it hadn’t happened at all.

But it doesn’t matter now. It may still be strange between Eren and me, but at least we’re talking… if ‘talking’ means throwing insults at one another every time we meet up.

It’s not how we used to be, but it’s better than nothing.

Besides, it was three years ago. This is the present day, and that’s why I, Jean Kirschtein,  am sitting behind my shop counter gazing out the window, laughing at my apprentice, Marc Whateverthefuckhislastnameis, stumble through the field of death, heading towards me.

I should probably go help him… but what I’m seeing right now is too funny to put an end to.

After getting his foot trapped in yet another rabbit hole, Marc stands up to his full height and brushes the dirt off his clothes. I don’t think he can see me giggling at him, so I continue to watch him make his way through the grass.

Once again, he stumbles forwards, crashing into the ground with an ‘oof’. I decide that I don’t really want to be healing his injuries again, so I get out of my seat and peer out of the window. His body has completely disappeared into the undergrowth. “Need some help there, Marc?” I call.

His head pops out from among the blades and his freckled cheeks flush. “You were watching me?!” he squeaks.

I shake my head and let off a breathy laugh. I leave my position at the window and wander out the front door. “If I help you up, will you actually do some work today?”

“It’s not my fault we haven’t done anything,” he chuckles.

I sigh to myself and hold out my arm for him. He grasps onto my wrist and I heave him upwards. He stumbles forwards again knocking into my chest, but manages to stay upright. He lifts his head to face mine and smiles. “What are we doing today, then?”

“Love potion. I was going to do a spell, but you need to actually want someone in order to do one of those… unless…”

“No.”

I let go of him and begin walking inside again. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

Marc follows me inside and set himself down behind the counter… in my stool.

He’s becoming more confident every day.

“Clear a space on the counter for me, I’ll be back before you know it,” I say, pointing to the mess made up of scattered books, discarded amulets and empty vials. Marc nods and begins shuffling the objects to the side. Whilst he’s busy with that, I go into the back room.

I know exactly what I’m looking for; the only challenge is finding them.

Despite my best efforts, the back room always seems to be untidy. Books clutter the wooden floorboards, peculiar stains are splattered across the walls (it’s mainly gremlin blood), abandoned spells are crumpled into little paper balls and scattered around the room and because of all of this, I can never find my fucking cauldron.

Yes, witches have cauldrons. We also use broomsticks, but not for flying around cackling at the unfortunates below us. That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I have no idea where the stereotype of an old hag with warts, a pointed hat and a flying broomstick came from, but whoever made it up clearly hadn’t ever met a real witch. For one, I’m very, very male (trust me, I checked), I definitely don’t have warts, I’m not exactly on the verge of death yet, I don’t own one of those stupid hats (although, Hanji does) and I can’t fly. There. Stereotype demolished.

Except for the cauldron. Those are very much a part of a witch’s life… if I could ever find mine.

Well… technically it’s not really a cauldron. In reality, it is merely an old clay bowl painted black, but it’s the best I’ve got.

I begin rummaging behind the stack of books I’ve managed to create over the last few weeks when, finally, I find my small, black pot. As I lift it away from the jungle of books the odd smell rises with it.

If Gumbie’s pissed in this again I swear I’m going to kill that cat.

Bracing myself, I sniff the bowl.

No. Not cat piss, just the remains of the last potion-gone-wrong.

I tip the rotting contents of the bowl out the thankfully open window and proceed to bring it into the main shop. I place it in front of Marc, step back and fold my arms.

If he thinks he’s getting any help, he’s mistaken.

He looks up at me and his brow furrows in confusion.

“W-what are you doing?" he asks.

I stay completely still, maintaining my stern posture. "I'm not helping you."

"Wha--why?" he stammers. "What if I kill Gumbie, or set off an explosion, or get it wrong and end up making poison, or I--"

"You'll be fine," I sigh. "I'll be in the back room if you need me, so I won't be too far away."

He stares at the cauldron with wide, untrained eyes, still with no clue what the fuck he's meant to be doing.

I guess I should point him in some kind of hopeful direction.

I pace over to one of the shelves and take the first book I see. Every book in here has at least something on love potions as they're so popular, so this one shouldn't be any different.

I drop the book lazily in front of him. “Flick through this, there should be something on love potions in there. After that, just go exploring and try to find the things you need.”

He continues to look horrified despite my perfectly reasonable explanation.

It’s not like I’m abandoning him or anything. This is how I learnt, so he can learn this way too. I’m not going anywhere and _everything_ is written in the book. He’ll be fine. I trust him.

“You’ll be fine,” I repeat. “I’ll just be in the back room, don’t worry. This is just so I can see what you know already.”

“I know nothing.”

“You’ll be surprised.” With that I pat him lightly on the shoulder, feeling him jump under my touch, and leave to retreat to the back room.

I collapse into my usual seat by the desk and… wait. There’s nothing to do. I can’t be bothered to read and Gumbie’s disappeared, so I may as well just sit here.

Although, I’m pretty tired. I haven’t been sleeping well recently, so I might as well just… dose… off…

Just for a little while.

 

* * *

 

“Jean?”

“What?”

“I messed up.”

“If you’ve killed my cat, Marc…”

“Gumbie’s fine… the potion isn’t.”

I groan into the wood of the desk. Maybe I slept for a little longer than intended. I pull my head away from the nest I’d made out of my crooked arm and sleepily turn to face Marc. He looks more worried than usual.

“What did you do?” I say monotonously.

He clears his throat and sheepishly walks away from me.

Is it really that bad?

After reasoning with myself as to whether I actually want to know what he’s done, I follow him into the main shop.

Holy fuck.

“What the _fuck_ did you do?!”

We both stare in horror at the overflowing cauldron. Brown liquid is spewing out of it, creating giant bulbous bubbles that vanish after a while with a disgusting ‘pop’. Thick, white froth is gathering at the lid of the black pot, spilling over the sides and onto the floor and thick gloop is oozing onto the counter top as if it has a mind of its own and sticks onto the wood.

“ _Marc,_ ” I glower.

“I told you I’d mess up,” he shrugs, “but _you_ didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t think you’d create… this.” I can’t stop staring at the murky ooze dripping down the side of the cauldron. It looks like shit, to put it bluntly. Actual, running shit. “You do realise it’s supposed to be red, right?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did you put in it?”

He hums to himself for a moment and stares at his hands; he then proceeds to count five fingers and turns to face me again. “Jasmine.”

“ _Yes.”_

“Rose petals… cinnamon, vanilla seeds and…” He stops and bites his lip.

“ _And?”_

“Wolf’s bane.”

That explains everything.

I give him a frustrated growl as I stomp towards the overflowing pot. I reach out my hand to try and pick it up, but the liquid spits at me. I retract my hand and scowl at Marc again. “Take it out. I’m not touching that shit.”

He reaches to the back of his neck and itches the skin there. “Sorry,” he smiles guiltily.

“I’ll forgive you if you get it the fuck away from me.”

He provides me with an enthusiastic nod and snatches the cauldron off the table. He heads towards the front door with the gloop oozing over his fingers, until I stop him in his tracks. “Back door. I don’t want customers seeing that stuff.”

“But what if I get eaten?”

“No creature will want to come anywhere near you whilst you’re holding _that_ fuckery.”

He just sighs at me and twists the other way, heading out the back of the shop, leaving a trail of manure coloured slime behind him.

I’m going to have fun later.

He soon returns with an empty cauldron and muck covered hands. I throw him an old rag and he cleans himself up.

“Do you want me to show you how to make a proper one?” I ask.

“Yes please,” he chuckles, cleaning the last bit of gunk off his fingers.

I disappear behind one of the bookcases and begin searching for my favourite ingredient to put in a love potion: nutmeg.

"I'm going to add an extra ingredient. Nutmeg is pretty useful in these kinds of potions because--"

I'm stopped by the cringing sound of shattering glass, followed by hurried footsteps heading out the front door. The wood slams shut, leaving me alone.

I peer out from behind the bookcase. "Marc?" I call. 

He's nowhere to be seen.

I rush out of the shop and into the field. I frantically try and search for him until I see the silhouette in the distance.

Fucking hell.

Marc is heading straight towards me, carrying a small, limp body in his arms. It seems completely lifeless. He's being followed by a boy of about ten with matted hair and dirt covered skin, and two adults, one male and the other female, presumably his parents.

As they get closer, the body in Marc's arms takes on a familiar shape.

It's a little girl.

Marc pauses in front of me and the boy peeps out from behind him. "Please help my sister," he chokes. The parents cling onto one another with blank faces, white with fear and stare at me with some kind of hope in their eyes.

I reach out to touch the girl's pale skin and feel her light breath on my skin. Her chapped lips are sealed and her long knotted hair cascades around her tiny, round face. Her eyes are screwed shut and I can feel her trembling. By the look on Marc's face, he can too.

"Get her inside," I demand.

Marc jumps into action and runs in, clutching the girl to his chest. The rest of us follow him and I take them into the back room.

I carelessly swipe the clutter off the desk, the books and other objects landing on the floor with a thud, and Marc sets the girl down on the wood.

"What happened to her?" I ask the terrified parents.

The boy clings onto his mother and she quickly answers me. "She just collapsed this morning. We had no warning signs it was going to happen, and then she started getting colder. I didn't know who else to turn to." She stares at me with faithful eyes and I know I have no choice but to try and help her daughter.

I nod and start examining the girl. I don't see anything different to what I saw earlier, but when I cup her cheeks, I realise that she's as cold as ice, but somehow still breathing. It's almost as if she's been frozen.

I lift her arm up and roll back the sleeve of her torn dress. Originally intending to check her pulse, I find something much worse than I expected.

"What's that?" Marc gasps staring wide eyed at the mark on her wrist. The girl's family all gather around the desk and copy Marc's expression.

The two bite marks directly over her veins are a swollen red colour. The pale skin around them is slowly turning black, rotting her away from the inside and spreading the venom throughout her body.

"She's been bitten by a vampire," I announce.

"Will she be alright?" the father asks breathlessly, clinging onto the rest of his family like his life depends on it.

"How old is she?" I demand.

"That doesn't answer my question. Will my daughter be alright?"

Is this man stupid? His daughter's been bitten by a vampire, no she's not going to be fucking alright.

"It does answer your question," I snap. "If I don't know how old she is, then I won't know what kind of antidote she needs, and judging by how far the venom has spread, I'd hurry up and tell me."

I can practically see his heart break into two. She doesn’t have much time left, and he knows it.

“She’s seven.”

“Fuck.” I turn away from them and start searching through the bookcase for something, _anything_ , that will help her.

“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” the mother cries.

I rake my hand through my hair and rest my head against the hard wood of the bookcase. I can’t look any of them in the eye.

Why me? Why do I have to tell them this? I can’t do this.

“I can’t give her the antidote. She’s too young. One of the elements will kill her. I’m sorry.”

My chest hurts as those words leave my mouth. They hang in the room like a bad odour and slowly sink into everyone’s thoughts.

She’s going to die. There’s nothing I can do.

“What do you mean you’re ‘sorry’?” the father hisses. “At least _try_ to save her.”

The mother sobs silently into her husband’s shoulder and the boy just stares at me with emotionless eyes. He hates me already, I can tell. My eyes flicker over to Marc’s gaze, silently holding the girl’s hand and searching inside himself for any kind of faith.

“Belladonna is one of the most toxic plants in this kingdom. Are you sure you really want to take that risk?” I ask.

“Is there any other form of antidote?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Do it.”

The mother becomes animated as he speaks. She screams at him to change his mind, in hopes that there’s another cure, but he just stands there like a statue, unmoving, emotionless and vacant.

I hurriedly skim the titles of the books again, the mother’s screams becoming a distant muffle.

“Jean…” Marc wavers.

“What?” I snap.

“Something’s happening.”

The mother’s cries instantly stop and silence takes over the room. I turn my head, reluctant to see the cause of the stillness.

The girl’s sitting up, head tilted to one side, staring directly at me with pure black eyes and pointed fangs. Her veins all run black instead of blue, giving her skin the impression of a shattered china doll. She grins at me.

The mother screams, and then chaos erupts.

The girl lunges at me, shrieking and clawing. Marc flies forwards and grabs onto her waist, restraining her from getting any closer. “Hurry!” he yells.

The girl’s family cower in the corner as they look upon my apprentice battling his first monster. So they should, they’ll be slaughtered.

I run past the books, there’s no use looking through them, there’s no time. I’ll just have to rely on memory.

She’s a new vampire, so there’s still hope of turning her back… if I’m quick.

The sound of books tumbling off their shelves makes me jump and I turn back to see Marc pressed against the wood with the girl snarling in his face. He pushes her off of him. She falls to the floor, but just gets up again like nothing happened. Then she’s on him again, making him tumble backwards, hitting his head on the wood again.

I need more time.

What did mother say about vampires? What did mother say about vampires?

_To turn a new vampire back to their original form, they must die in order to live._

The realisation hits me. It’s so simple.

The quickest way to do turn her back is to give her contaminated blood.

“Jean! Are you done yet?” Marc shouts.

I’m panicking. I can feel it running through me, growing in my gut and slowly rising.

I need to hurry.

I search the numerous vials and bottles on the shelves until I find the bottle of crimson liquid I’m looking for.

Belladonna.

I rush back towards Marc, picking up a knife as I go. “Get her on the table,” I order. Marc heaves the girl away from him, just enough to throw her onto the desk. He pins her wrists above her head and holds her down. Her family stare in horror as she writhes to struggle free.

Now for the bit I’m not looking forward to.

I twist the cork out of the bottle and hold the glass to my lips.

“What are you doing?” the mother screams.

I ignore her and gulp down the entire contents of the bottle.

The sweet taste of the plant juice dances on my tongue and fills my senses. My head sways as the effects of the poison begin.

I hold the blade of the knife against my wrist and press down. I wince as I drag the blade across my soft skin and my blood seeps out of the wound.

“Jean!” Marc yells, still holding down the kicking and screaming vampire convert.

My head’s spinning. With trembling hands and shaking feet, I stumble towards the girl and hold my wrist to her mouth. She grins at me gleefully and sinks her teeth into my skin.

I scream as the sharp pain travels through me. She’s sucking the life out of me.

Marc’s cries are only a distant whisper now. I can feel him grabbing onto me, desperately trying to hold me upright.

But with the poison of the belladonna running through my body and the little blood I have left, I fade into the black, leaving Marc behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry... all will be answered in the next chapter.  
> However, I'm away in San Francisco for two weeks during summer so the next update may be a little delayed. I will write as much as possible, I promise.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	4. Dominion and Demise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started, I just want to say a HUGE MAHOOSIVE THANK YOU to tumblr user (and freaking amazing artist) [inverted-typo](http://inverted-typo.tumblr.com/) for creating this FrEAkinG GoRgeouS piece of [FANART](http://inverted-typo.tumblr.com/post/89845552267/fanart-for-this-freaking-amazing-fic-the-witchs). Seriously, it's amazing and if you haven't checked it out, I suggest you do because it's perfect in every way (first fanarts are important, okay?).  
> *coughs*  
> Anyway, thank you very much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter... and I'm super, super sorry for the delayed update. Life happens, ya know?  
> However, here it is! It's lengthy, there's blood, vomiting and other not so nice things (you have been warned), and I hope you like it.  
> Enjoy!

The knife in his hand falls to the floor and clangs against the wood. “Jean!” I fist his tunic harder, trying with all my strength to hold him upright, but he just keeps screaming. “Jean, listen to me! You need to stay with me!” With the arm that isn’t being bitten, he tries to push the girl away from him. More blood runs out of his arm as his flesh is ripped by her jagged fangs.

Bone begins to show through his wound as she bites harder. My stomach churns and I stumble away from him. I can't hold him up. I can’t do this. His screams are too loud, too painful. I don’t know what to do.

The sound of agony is ripping through him, making my chest ache and I’m just standing here completely frozen, with no idea what I’m supposed to do.

I feel sick. I can’t take my eyes away from where the girl has sunk her teeth into Jean’s flesh, ripping the skin away to expose red, inked with black venom and bone. He can’t pull her off of him.

The girl’s family are still cowering away in the far corner, petrified at the sight before them. Who wouldn’t? They had to watch their daughter turn into a monster, who’s now killing my friend, and I can’t even manage to pluck up enough courage to save him. I just have to watch him scream and die before me.

I can’t do this.

The girl sinks her teeth deeper into Jean’s wrist and with an ear-shattering scream he tumbles to the floor, pulling the girl off the table with him. His limp body collapses as she takes more and more of his blood. He’s completely silent now, and I still haven’t moved.

I need to do something.

Marco, move. Do something. He’s dying.

His head falls backwards and he stares up at me with pleading eyes.

What do I do?

“Marc…” Jean chokes.

Marco, do something for goodness sake. Are you really going to let him die in front of you? Haven’t you let enough people die because of you?

My body suddenly jolts with adrenaline and I’m screaming, charging towards the girl. She lifts her head away from his shaking body and before she can turn on me, I’ve got my hands around her neck.

She claws at me frantically, but I just press down harder.

“Stop!” the mother cries. “You’ll kill her!”

“She’s already dead!” I scream. The vampire shrieks at me and I pin her to the floor, pressing down on her neck harder. Her screams begin to stutter and I clench harder, my hands turning red around her pale skin.

The woman lunges towards me, only to be pulled back by her shouting husband. The boy stays put, watching in horror as I slaughter his sister

I’m killing someone. I'm killing a child.

Shaken and disturbed, my grip loosens slightly and I glance back at Jean, completely motionless on the floor, his blood dripping from his shredded skin onto the wood.

I can't see him breathing and he isn't making any noise.

"Jean?" I whimper, desperate for a response from him.

I don't get one. He's deathly still and utterly silent with his eyes peacefully closed.

No. He can’t be…

Madness takes over. I grit my teeth and turn to the vampire again. I strangle her out of pure rage and scream at her to mirror her shrieks.

She's no child. No child would kill another human. She's the very meaning of monstrosity.

Her clawing motions begin to falter as the breath starts to leave her body. I press down as I hard as I can, ignoring the screams coming from all directions.

This... _thing_ killed Jean. Now it has to pay.

I stare into its black eyes one last time before they explode into a luminous blue and she falls backwards, her eyes staring wide at me with no life left in them at all.

Her crying family rush over to her body and push me out of the way. I crawl away from them as fast as I can and watch as the mother cradles her little girl in her arms and weeps into the soulless body.

I can’t stop the hot teardrops streaming down my face as I stare in horror, coming to terms with what I’ve just done. I just killed someone. I’m a murderer.

Still fumbling away from them, I brush against a cold, wet hand and I look down at Jean, still completely motionless.

Whiskey eyes that used to watch my every move are now closed and I can’t feel him breathing. He’s gone.

“I’m so sorry,” I sob, taking his torn and mutilated arm in my hand. “I didn’t know what to do.”

I rest my head on his chest and listen into the sounds around me. The mother’s overpowering wailing is still as consistent as before. I don’t want to look. I know she’s still cradling the body I killed. The father’s choked breathing is barely audible under the woman’s cries, and the boy is still silent.

If I’d moved sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. If I’d moved, Jean would be alive. He would have known what to do.

Everything becomes muted. Wailing becomes muffled cries and choked breathing becomes inaudible. My head’s spinning.

The faint flutter of a heartbeat is the only thing I can here. It’s weak, but it’s still there.

It’s Jean’s.

I lift my head away from him and stare down at his death-like countenance. “Jean?” I ask, praying for some kind of response.

I don’t get one.

“Jean!” I shout.

Still nothing.

Cringing to myself, I strike my hand across his cheek. I do it again. Again. Again. Each blow gets harder each time I hit him and his pale skin is turning red under my touch.

I just want him to wake up.

“Give up. He’s dead. An eye for an eye,” the mother splutters.

I glare at her. I understand that she’s distraught over her loss, but I’m losing Jean and I really don’t need this. “Don’t say things like that. He’s alive. I know it.” I don’t know if I’m trying to persuade her or myself. She just clutches her remaining family to her and watches me as I try to save him.

I raise my hand to strike him again, but a breath of air rushes from his lips.

“Jean?”

I lean in closer to him and he tries to say something, but the words won’t leave his lips. Instead, he just gags and splutters back to reality, eyes wide and hysterical.  Panicked, bloodshot eyes stare at me and he grips my neck, his nails digging into my skin. I hold my hands to his cheeks and try to make sense out of him. His rushed wheezing and constant grappling against my skin are distracting me from what’s meant to be coming out of his mouth as consonants and vowels.

“Shh, calm down, calm down,” I say softly, holding him upright.

Swallowing thickly, he shakes his head, struggling for breath. A sudden cry erupts from within him and he doubles over, clenching his stomach. He shunts my arms away from him and flops forwards, crawling towards the discarded bottle on the floor, writhing in pain. He catches sight of the family, still here and slowly edging away from him and he pauses. His disfigured arm raises and points weakly at the body of the girl.

“Alive,” he chokes. The mother’s eyes widen and she glances at her shaken husband, whilst the boy clings onto the wilted arm of his sister. “Alive.” Another scream, and he’s clawing at his skin.

I rush over to him, ignoring the family’s disbelief, and his bloodied arm rises. He hooks it around my neck, trying to hoist himself up. As soon as he manages to straighten, he tumbles into my arms. He’s too weak to stay upright. I hold him closer to me and whisper, “What can I do?”

I feel his head shift against my chest and he points to the bottle. “Bella…” he heaves. His breathing hitches and his arm drops to the floor. “Bella…”

“My god!” the father yells. “She’s breathing!”

I glance back at them and can’t help but smile slightly as the father leans in closer to his daughter again and feels her faint breath against him.

I knew Jean could do it.

Amazed, I watch as the girl’s once limp arm springs to life and cups her father’s cheek. A slight glint of hope fills the room as the rest of the family cries out in joy and embraces the girl. Her eyes flutter open and she sits up in her father’s lap, smiling and taking in her surroundings. Then she spots Jean and me and fright sinks in. She remembers everything. The bite, the blood, the strangulation, the murder. Everything.

But that’s not important right now. I need to save Jean first. He's still mumbling. I can't make any sense out of him. It's the same, incoherent, breathless word over and over again: "Bella".

“Jean, I don’t understand,” I tell him as the parents cry praise and gratitude.

Inhaling as much air as he can possibly manage, he grips onto my arm, digging his nails into me. He chokes on his own breath and points to the bottle again.

“Belladonna!” he cries.

 

* * *

 

_“Levi, please. I’m begging you. Let me see her,” I pleaded._

_“I can’t,” he said sternly, folding his arms and blocking the way. I peered around him to stare at the crowd that had formed outside my mother’s room. Each and every one of them was just standing there, listening to her screams. They didn’t do anything. They were just letting her die._

_“Please!” I shouted. I couldn’t have just stood there and done nothing._

_“Marco, I’m doing this for your own good. Trust me; you don’t want to go down there.”_

_Another deafening screech erupted from my mother’s chambers and more people began to crowd around the threshold, staring in horror at whatever was going on in there._

_Why weren’t they doing anything?_

_“Please. She’s my mother,” my voice cracked on every syllable and I just wanted to collapse and scream. I knew she was dying. I knew she was in pain. But I just wanted to say goodbye. That’s all I asked for._

_I stared up at Levi with tears forming in the corners of my eyes and a choking sensation growing in my throat. I just wanted to tell her that I loved her._

_Momentarily, Levi allowed his softer side to make an appearance and sighed. He held out his hand for me and I took it. “You’re going to regret this, Marco,” he murmured. Levi led me down the cold, barren corridor and to the door of my mother’s bed chamber. He didn’t let go of me as I peered in between the overseers._

_My mother was thrashing on the mattress of her bed, screaming, surrounded by two people I recognised as the Jinae witch, Hanji and her apprentice, Moblit, my father and her lady in waiting, Kate, also known as my father’s mistress._

_My mother threw back her head onto the pillows propped up behind her and clenched her stomach, crying out for some kind of relief. She lurched forwards, gagged and spat out thick, red blood that soaked into the white sheets on the bed. She rocked backwards and forwards in her delirium and screamed out again._

_My father just watched on blankly with denial flowing through him. He had no idea what had happened. At the time, I didn’t either. But only a few weeks later when I watched my first execution and Kate was standing on the platform, grinning from ear to ear, I understood._

_“What happened?” I asked Levi, who was watching with almost the same expression as my father._

_“Listen.” He squeezed my hand a little harder and continued to watch on._

_I did as I was told._

_“Your Majesty, I’m afraid the poison has spread too far for us to treat her. We’re doing all we can, but she’s been given a high dosage of belladonna,” Hanji announced._

_“Treat her anyway,” my father said coldly._

_Hanji and Moblit glanced at one another and exchanged a sharp nod. Moblit rushed over to the other side of the chamber and hurriedly fiddled with the latch on some kind of leather case. He managed to force it open and stared wide eyed at the infinite amount of jars and bottles lined up in neat rows inside. “What do you need?” he asked._

_Hanji replied, “Pilocarpus and black tea leaves to ease the pain.”_

_Moblit hovered over the tiny jars for a moment, then quickly pulled out two clear jars, one containing what looked like crumbled charcoal, and the other was filled with small, maroon, star shaped fruits. He brought them back to Hanji, along with a mortar and pestle. She tipped the entire contents of both jars into the mortar in a flurry of panic and began to grind the two ingredients together._

_My mother choked and spluttered more blood onto the sheets and began clawing at my father. “Marco, my sweet Marco. Where is he? Where’s my little boy?” she wailed._

_My father shook his head and backed away from her slowly. She was going to die that day, he knew it._

_“I want my boy!” she screamed. “Where’s my boy?!”_

_I struggled against Levi’s firm grip. I couldn’t stand there and do nothing. I wanted to comfort her. His hand just tightened around me and stood perfectly still with no emotion whatsoever._

_“Let me go!” I protested, but he did nothing. His stone grasp was making my wrist go numb as I continued to try and pull away from him. I didn’t understand how he couldn’t show any emotion. He loved my mother and looked up to her. Everyone did. She was the symbol of our kingdom and yet there she was, reduced to a delirious wreck, slowly decaying from the inside out._

_“Levi!” I screamed._

_The crowd in front of me slowly turned their heads to face me and my heart began thumping against my ribs. One thousand eyes all scrutinised the wailing thirteen year old Prince Marco as he watched his mother go mad and die before his very eyes. I wanted to throw up._

_I managed to break free from Levi’s hold and pushed through the crowd, and into my mother’s chamber._

_“Marco! Get out of here now!” my father demanded. I shook my head and stormed over to my mother’s trembling body. I sat down next to her and threw my arms around her neck._

_“I’m right here,” I whispered._

_“My sweet little boy,” she smiled. Her happiness was short lived as she tried to reach for my cheek; she staggered forwards again, screaming._

_Kate rushed over to her and rubbed my mother’s back, attempting to comfort her, all in false sympathy. “I think you should leave, Marco,” she said dryly. I took it as a warning, but ignored her. I clung onto my mother’s hand and refused to let go._

_Hanji propped my mother up, despite her screeches a pushed the mortar filled with deep purple liquid to her lips. She forced the liquid down her throat and the stone of the mortar crashed against her teeth. She choked on the fluid involuntarily flowing through her and clenched my hand harder._

_Hanji pulled the mortar away from her once he was satisfied with the dose she’d given her and turned to my father. “It won’t be enough to cure her, Your Majesty. I’m sorry,” she sighed. My father nodded solemnly and then we waited. It was only a matter of time._

_My mother’s breathing began to hitch and she leant back into my arms, staring up at me with a smile on her face._

_It was time._

_“My beautiful boy,” she beamed, stroking my cheek. Tears ran down from my eyes and rolled over her long fingers, still caressing my jawline. “I love you.”_

_“I love you too. I always will.”_

_Maybe she knew she was going to die right then. Although the poison had corrupted her mind and was flowing through her veins in place of her blood, she must have known. The substance Hanji had given her may not have healed her, but it eased the pain. That was good enough for me._

_She died in my arms a few moments later and there was nothing I could do except scream._

 

* * *

 

I know what I need to do.

“That was belladonna?” I ask, nodding towards the bottle. Jean grunts and I assume that’s his way of telling me that I’m right.

I just need to hope he’s not at the stage where he’s coughing up blood. That would mean that I’m too late and history would repeat itself.

Jean lurches forwards and gags. I freeze for a moment watching him, completely terrified. When nothing spews from his lips, I sigh to myself and relax a little.

I place Jean carefully on the floor and hurry towards the shelves at the back of the room. I begin searching the labels of the jars for the antidote, when I feel something tug on my leg. I look down to see the girl’s brother staring up at me wilfully.

“I want to help,” he says firmly. I glance back at his parents. They’re still rejoicing over the revival of their little girl, who’s still staring at me like I’m a monster. I look at the boy again to stop the guilt running through me and nod. “I need black tea leaves. Do you think you can find that? They look like crumbled charcoal,” I smile at him. He nods and starts searching through the shelves.

I on the other hand need pilocarpus _—_ the main component of the antidote.

I continue to skim over the labels.

_Acerola, aloe vera, aniseed, arnica, basil, burdock, cats claw—_

By the looks of things Jean's ordered his herbs in alphabetical order. How meticulous.

I skip ahead to the jars labelled with ‘p’s.

_Pepper, pimento, pycnogenol—_

No pilocarpus.

“Jean, do you have pilocarpus?” I shout. I look back at him to find him crawling towards me. His heavy breathing is the only thing I can hear in the room and I watch as his arms give out on him. He falls to the floor and retches again. I wince as frothy phlegm drips from his mouth and onto the floor. I need to hurry. “Do you have pilocarpus?” I repeat. He shakes his head.

I search the jars and bottles again. There must be _something_ here.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot something familiar. A jar filled with small, maroon, star shaped fruits. It’s labelled _Jaborandi_ , another form of pilocarpus.

The boy returns holding the container of black tea leaves and passes it to me. I don’t take my time when I grab the mortar and pestle on the topmost shelf and pour half the contents of each jar into the granite bowl. I grind the two ingredients together with as much frustration and power as I can. I fear that Jean doesn’t have long until he’s at the point of no return. He keeps throwing up. Soon the bile will turn to blood.

The mixture begins to turn into a deep purple liquid, exactly how it looked when I saw it prepared the first time.

Stepping over the mess Jean’s made on the floor, followed by the boy, I hold the mortar to Jean’s lips. He snatches it out of my hands and gulps down the whole lot. Once he’s done, he simply lets it drop to the floor and falls backwards onto the hard ground. The boy and I watch as his chest rises and falls at a miraculous pace, then he cries out.

“Jean?” I reach out to touch him but he shoots upright and clings to his stomach.

I’ve messed up. It’s happening again.

He curls up into a ball and his breathing shakes, his hands tremble and his legs twitch.

“Jean?”

The parents and the girl are paying attention now and concern washes over them.

His heavy wheezing suddenly stops and he looks up at me.

All goes silent as we watch and wait for him to move. It feels like forever.

Slowly, he unfurls his body and raises his hands to his face, feeling his features in astonishment. My heart stops. His head sways slightly with half lidded eyes and he holds his hand to his head to steady himself. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles.

“Jean? A-are you alright?” I ask, edging closer to him.

His eyes gleam and he grins. “Never better.”

Grinning back at him, I place my hand firmly on his shoulder and give him the kind of nod that asks "are you sure you're alright?" without speaking. With a definite nod in reply, he rests his hand over mine and we revel in the sight of one another, thankful to be alive.

I notice the little girl rise from the safety of her father’s hold and walk towards us, slightly apprehensively. I allow my hand to slip out from underneath his and watch her. She kneels in front of Jean and stares at him for a few moments, confused, lightheaded, yet grateful.

She wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. Quiet, muffled whimpers slip past her lips and she holds him tighter, her body shaking. Jean looks surprised at the gesture, not knowing how to deal with a crying child, but holds her close to him anyway.

“Thank you,” she whispers. He just smiles. I haven’t seen him smile like that before. It’s not forced or fake, it’s genuine.

“No problem,” he chuckles.

She lets go of him and turns away, wiping the tears away from her reddened face. She becomes frozen the second she lays eyes on me. I understand why. I did kill her, after all. “You should probably thank him, too,” Jean smiles. He pats her on the back and kneels so that he’s the same height as her. “I know he looks pretty scary and he did strangle you, but if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

I’m not scary. I think. I know I’m tall, but I would have at least thought that my freckles would make me seem a little less intimidating.

The girl stares in fright at me, still contemplating whether I’m going to try and kill her again. I decide to stay silent and let Jean do all the talking. She seems to trust him.

“Don’t worry. He’s a nice person,” Jean smiles.

The girl nods at him and cautiously makes her way towards me. I hold my hand out for her to shake as I don’t think I’m quite worthy of an embrace, but she just pulls me into her, much like she did with Jean. I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and I can’t help but notice the parents looking on in amazement.

When she lets go of me she runs back into her mother’s arms with a blush staining her cheeks. Her brother, not one for emotional gestures, shakes both mine and Jean’s hands and re-joins his family. They all stare at us with smiles on their faces and a new found hope in their eyes.

I stand up from my kneeling position and look awkwardly at them. I shouldn’t be the one doing this, Jean should, but he’s busy finding his feet and realising that he is in fact alive.

“Jean, can you stand?” I ask.

Slowly, he staggers upwards and holds onto my shoulder for support, slightly leaning into me. He smiles at the little girl but her cheeks flush darker and hides in the skirt of her mother’s dress. I think Jean’s got an admirer.

“The people are wrong about you,” the mother says. “You’re not a monster at all.”

Monster?

My eyes flick over to try and see Jean’s reaction to those words, but he just avoids my gaze.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

With those final words and a few nods of appreciation, the family leaves the shop, forever thankful and indebted to Jean.

* * *

 

After cleaning up Jean’s vomit and all the misplaced books strewn across the shop, the two of us collapse onto the stools behind the counter and I begin tending to his mauled wrist.

I wrap the bandage around Jean’s arm again, making sure not to rub against his now covered wound and tie the ends together. I give it a slight tug to make it secure and Jean hisses. “It hurts,” he whines.

“Well, you were just bitten by a vampire,” I reply, twisting the material around his barely useable arm one last time for good measure. “Of course it would hurt.” Cocking an eyebrow at me, he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Excuse me, but who’s helping who here?”

“I’m going to hit you in a moment,” he laughs. I just hold his arm in my hand and try to maintain eye contact with him as I attempt to think of a witty comeback.

“You have no arm to hit me with,” I retaliate.

He chuckles to himself and rolls back the sleeve on his functioning arm, exposing his biceps. Making a mental note not to stare for too long, Jean flexes what little muscle is there and grins at me. “My other arm is perfectly fine, just you wait.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wou- Ah!” I tug on his bandage and giggle at Jean’s scowl. “Hey, this fucking hurts. Don’t be a dick,” he says, attempting to seem serious, but I can’t help but notice the upturned corners of his pale, chapped lips.

“Sorry,” I chuckle and he just shakes his head with a slight smile tugging at his mouth, fiddling with the remaining strip of bandage hanging from his arm. I should probably cut that.

“Thank you, Marc,” he says. I just smile at him and grab the small knife on the counter. I cut away the rest of the material and tuck the loose end into the tightly wound bands circling Jean’s wrist.

“All done.”

With a relieved groan, Jean rests his head on the wooden countertop and lets his eyes flutter shut. I just embrace the peace and quiet of the shop in place of panicked screaming and rest my hand in Jean’s hair, slowly stroking the slightly tangled strands between my fingertips.

“Tired?” I ask. He grunts and continues to let me run my fingers through his sandy blond mane. I glimpse out the window. It’s nearly sundown. “I should probably go and let you sleep, then.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

“Sorry?”

I let my hand fall from his head and he straightens, staring directly at me. “You’re staying here. With me.”

“Jean, I can’t, you know that.”

He rolls his tongue around the inside of his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, trying to muster up the words to say to me. Then he pauses and sighs. “It’s not safe at the palace,” he states.

“Jean, the palace is perfectly safe. We do have Levi after—“

“It’s Levi I’m worried about.”

I have to stop myself for a moment before I open my mouth and tell him something he can’t know.

But I trust Levi with my life. It’s his job to protect me.

“Levi’s the head of the Elite Guard. He’s the first person I’d want to be around if I was in danger,” I frown. Watching Jean intently, his eyes flicker around the room and his breathing quickens slightly. He leans forwards and clasps his hands around mine. The stare he’s giving me makes my hands shake and I’m completely captivated by his burning eyes.

“Levi’s a vampire.”

My face falls and I retract my arms away from his hold. He must be joking.

Noticing my disbelief, Jean sighs and storms out of his seat. He grabs a book off one of the book cases and flicks through it, scanning each page. The title on the spine reads Creatures of Curiosity.

He slams the book down in front of me and points to the drawing on one of the pages. A hunch backed beast with dishevelled black hair and teeth that look more like daggers and wide eyes towers over a screaming man, clinging to his bleeding neck. Other variations of the same beast look on at the scene in the background, bearing their fangs and displaying their sharp claws. Even though it is only a drawing, the cold eyes of the toothed beast make my hairs stand on end.

“Let me tell you a story, Marc,” Jean begins, leaving me to stare some more at the drawing. “Once upon a time, vampires all lived in one giant clan called the Caedem. They were bloodthirsty monsters that drained anything that came into their path and often came into Trost at night to feed on small children.” The last part stuns me and I raise my head to stare at him in fright. Jean nods and continues. “The drawing you’re looking at right now is of an interpretation of a typical Caedem massacre. Let’s just say that the people of Trost a few hundred years ago saw too many of those for their liking.”

I look back at the drawing again and study the almost too realistic eyes of the beast in the centre of the page. “So Levi’s one of these… things?” I ask.

“I’m not done yet.” He turns the page of the book and a new drawing appears. It’s of the exact same monsters as before, but they’re fighting each other whilst the humans look on. Teeth are gnashing, claws are striking and blood is being spilt. This seems like a true massacre to me. “Eventually, some of the vampires in the clan decided that they no longer agreed with the traditional morals. They wanted to join forces with the humans as darker creatures such as orcs and leucrotas--”

“Leuwhatas?”

“Just a monster that lives in the forest.” He says it so casually that I almost believe that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Then I look at the drawing again and reality hits me like a slap to the face. “Anyway, darker creatures that have more power than vampires began residing in the forest. The Caedem were getting lower down the food chain, so some of the members wanted the human’s help. Obviously they couldn’t really ask for their help if they killed them so…” Trailing off, he stops to study my concentration of the picture. I lift my head away from the battle scene to give him my full attention. “But the other vampires weren’t exactly happy with this proposal, so the two sides began fighting.” He taps the book page and then flips it back to the previous picture. “Not all vampires are like this one. If anything, the majority of them tend not to take sides and stay in the shadows, making sure not to bump into a member of the Caedem.”

 “So the Caedem still exists?” I ask.

“Of course it does. That’s why I’m worried.” I frown at him again. I thought he said that vampires tend to stay in the shadows. “Think about it, Marc. A seven year old girl comes into the shop today and she’s been bitten by a vampire, coincidentally at the same time that Levi, a vampire, happens to be in Trost. What do you make of that?”

“That Levi looks like any other human being, so how on earth do you know if he’s a vampire or not?” That thought had been bugging me the whole time Jean was talking. Levi’s completely normal. He’s a little on the short side, I admit, but he’s nothing like those creatures in the drawings.

Jean freezes and his eyes widen, staring at me with a stony gaze. He takes a few moments to realise what I just said and his shoulders slowly relax, taking in the frown that has spread across my face. With an irate sigh he covers his eyes with his hand. “Fuck.”

I peer over at him and send across a quizzical frown, complete with a quirked eyebrow. Spinning on his heel, he turns away from me as soon as he catches my eyes and begins pacing around the shop in a hurried and desperate manner, muttering to himself and making eccentric hand movements.

Once he completes a circuit of the shop, he pauses in front of me and inhales sharply. Squeezing his eyes shut and stretching his arms behind his head, he finally speaks. “I need to show you something,” comes his strained voice. He opens one eye to judge my reaction, but I just watch him vacantly. He relaxes and stares back at me, neither of us moving a muscle, and then he begins to stride backwards. Beckoning me away from the counter he goes into the back room. I follow him.

As soon as I enter the room that was a scene of carnage earlier, Jean closes the door behind me and slams the window shutters closed, grumbling about the aching pain in his arm.

He shouldn’t have used his bad arm to close the shutters, then.

It's pitch black. Nothing is visible in this bleakness. I've lost sight of him.

“Jean, if you want to show me something, then taking me into a pitch black room won’t help,” I say as my eyes adjust to the gloom enclosing me.

“Shh,” he hushes.

A sudden meow makes me jump and I feel Gumbie’s soft fur circle around my ankles. When did he get in here?

The comforting feeling of Gumbie rubbing against my skin quickly leaves me and all goes silent in the room. I can’t even hear Jean’s breathing, just my own.

“Watch,” Jean’s soft voice commands out of the dark.

With no idea as to what I’m supposed to be watching exactly, I decide to look straight ahead to where I think Jean is standing and wait.

A dim light begins flickering in front of me, enclosed in the peachy skin wall of Jean’s hands. It’s not enough light to fill the room, but I see it clear as day. It wavers a little every now and then, but Jean keeps it covered, protecting it like a child. He allows his fingers to widen a little and light pours through the cracks he’s made in his skin barrier. The dim light slightly illuminates Jean’s face and strange shadows fill every crevice and dent imprinted on him. Amber eyes with flaming embers stare back at me, reflecting the hazy light and he reveals a small, faint ball of gleam sitting in the palm of his hand.

Self-control no longer existent, I hypnotically step closer towards the trembling sun-like light source. I can feel Jean breathe against me as the orb radiates in the small space between us.  Jean keeps his eyes focussed on the magic in his palm. “It’s usually brighter than this,” he muses.

“It’s beautiful.”

He looks up at me and shrugs. “So now you know, then. I’m a freak.” The dejection in his voice when the word ‘freak’ leaves him pains me. He sounds so disgusted with himself it hurts.

“You’re not a freak,” I say firmly. The light flickers, almost completely burnt out. “It’s beautiful.”

Gumbie meows in agreement from his perch on Jean’s desk and we both smile at him.

Jean's eyes soon shift back towards the pale, fading glow and his face drops. I place my hand on his shoulder and gaze into the light. He does nothing to stop me. “It’s dying. I’m too weak to keep it alight,” he quivers.

My hand lies unmoving on his shoulder, feeling his shoulder blades move ever so slightly with every breath he takes. I can’t take my eyes off him. The flickering light continues to lighten Jean’s strong features and sends us both into darkness and back again on a wandering time limit, and we both just stare, completely silent and paralysed. We’re waiting for it to do something, but I don’t know what.

“I don’t even know what it does,” his voice shakes. “I don’t deserve these powers if I can’t even do any good with them.”

He begins to tremble against my skin. He’s getting weaker.

“Let it go out,” I exhale. Jean’s breath hitches and he slowly edges away from me, slipping from my grasp. _“Let it go out.”_

He looks back at the almost non-existent light in his palm and shakes his head.

“Jean, you’re getting weaker.” I can see it in his face. He’s turning pale. “Jean, please. You’re hurting yourself.”

Shaking his head, he turns away from me. The soft glow still radiates around his silhouette, but it’s slowly dying, sucking out his remaining strength as it does.

I rush over to him and slip my hand around his wrist. His body shivers under my touch. Constraint is the last thing on my mind right now, so I clutch him tighter and rest my head on his shoulder, eyes screwed shut. “Jean, you've been blessed. This... _power_ is a gift. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, even though it's not even fully alight, but you need to let it go out. You’re hurting yourself. It’s making you weak.”

He does nothing.

“Please, Jean. Let it go out. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

All goes silent.

He stops shaking. “Marc,” he says, barely above a whisper. “What's happening to me?"

I raise my head away from his shoulder and I’m instantly blinded by a bright white light. I stagger backwards away from him and shield my eyes from the radiant, powerful aurora.

Slowly, he turns to face me again, eyes wide with fear. Regaining my feet, I scramble towards him again.

“No, don’t! Something’s happening,” he orders. The plead in his eyes makes my feet halt to a complete stand still and I watch the lustrous light fill the entire room.

Gumbie hasn’t seemed to have moved from the desk and watches his master, entirely still in obedience. His blue eyes seem to take in everything, even my quickened and urgent wheezing.

Everything goes black.

A piercing scream tears through the darkness.

I don't even need to call out his name. I know it's him.

I race towards the tiny slit of light shining in through the gap in the shutters and wrench them open. Daylight pours into the room and I turn to see Jean bent over, grasping and clawing at his bandaged arm, grunting and wailing in pain.

Holding him upright, I cup his cheeks to hold his face in front of mine and stare into his panicked eyes. "Jean, what's happening?" I ask as calmly as I can.

"My fucking arm hurts!" he yells.

"You really are screaming a lot today," I utter.

"Not exactly the right time to be fucking around, Marc," he growls.

Nodding in apology, I roll back his sleeve to take a look at the bandage. Maybe I tied it too--

Oh my god. The bandage is _glowing_.

"Jean, what the--?" I'm cut off by another cry and Jean scrapes at the material again.

"Get it off me!" he barks. He stumbles backwards and into the desk with a thud, causing Gumbie to jump off and run behind one of the bookcases. I don't blame him.

As soon as I manage to get Jean still, despite his yelling and scratching, I untie the bandage and pull it off him.

Everything goes silent and our eyes fixate on Jean's uncovered wrist.

White light shines out of the mauled, bloodied skin around his wrist and is gradually stitching itself together right before our eyes. Jean grunts as the skin begins to mould together and attempts to hold his shaking arm still.

The once near-fatal slash in his skin completely closes up and we're both left completely brainless and numb, not quite over the phenomenon that just occurred before us.

Jean falls backwards and sits on the desk, his body nearly entirely limp, still staring at his healed arm.

"Jean, how did you--?"

"I don't know. I've never done that before."

I join him on the desk and follow his line of sight. Only the smallest traces of dried blood are left on his skin, there's no way of telling that he was ever harmed.

"Why did you want to show me that?" I ask, taking his arm in my hand, inspecting the clear skin.

Licking his lips, he lifts his head to face me. "So you'd believe me when I told you that I have powers." He pauses and laughs breathlessly to himself. "I can create light and see people in their true form. That's how I know Levi's a vampire. And now, by the looks of things, I can heal myself. That's useful."

"So you see Levi as one of those things in that book?"

He inhales through his nose and shakes his head. "Not exactly," he trembles. He's still in shock. "I just sort of… _know_.  It's complicated."

He looks at his arm again and starts picking at the dry flakes of red sticking to his wrist.

"I don't believe it," I utter, watching his every move.

"Neither do I," he mumbles. Jean sighs to himself and holds his head in his hands. "Now I don't know what to do with you. You're not even going to be safe here."

"How?" I squint at him, trying to get my head around his murmurs.

"What if I can do more than this? What if I...?" He trails off and runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

It's probably best if I don't say anything right now. I sit next to him in complete silence and try not to move a muscle as I watch Jean have an internal war with himself.

His hair now mussed, he looks up towards the shelves. His eyes widen. He shifts off the desk and begins rummaging through the different objects lining the wood.

He returns holding some kind of necklace in his hand. Taking my arm, he places it in my palm.

The pendant itself is made of a battered and scratched metal, with what looks like an upturned pitchfork engraved into the centre and it's tied to a long, distressed brown cord. It may be simple, but it's rather beautiful.

"It's yours," Jean says. "This is the rune algiz. It’ll protect you."

I clutch the pendant closer to my chest and smile at him. "Thank you, Jean."

With a slight shrug, he sighs to himself solemnly and runs a hand through his hair.

The back room goes quiet for a moment. We don't say a word to one another.

As Jean decides to stare at the floor, seemingly void of anything that's going on around him, I tie my new necklace around my neck and admire the pendant once again.

It's a nice feeling when someone worries about you so much that they want to protect you. Although it's not necessarily a good thing, it makes me feel wanted.

I'm being ridiculous. Of course he'd worry. He worries about everything. What makes me any different?

"I think I need some time," he murmurs.

"Time?" I repeat, pushing away my thoughts.

"Just a couple of days to get myself sorted out."

I frown and attempt to get him to look at me. I fail. "But… why? You're fine." He looks up at me with dark eyes and shakes his head. "Aren't you?"

He collapses back onto the desk and shakes his head again. With his expression seeming almost completely absent, I believe I've lost him for a moment as he gazes out the window with a new form of uneasiness I haven't seen before. He looks scared.

"Give me one day. That's all I ask for. I just need to figure some things out. Until then, just stay at the castle and avoid Levi." He looks towards me again with a more serious tone. My body quivers under his glare. "I don't want you to get hurt, Marc."

Absent minded, I run my thumb over the engraving of the pendant and nod. There's nothing I can do to change his mind. He's too stubborn to even try.

"One day?" I ask just to make sure.

"One day," he nods.

"Alright."

I slide off the desk and begin to walk away from him.

I'm regretting this already.

I pause in the threshold and look over my shoulder. He just sits there on the desk biting his bottom lip with clenched fists.

I want him to say something to me. I want him to change his mind.

I _need_ him to stay safe.

If only I had the guts to let that come out of my nailed shut mouth.

He doesn't say anything to me.

"Good luck," I sigh. He nods. It's the only form of response I get.

So I leave.

One day. That's all.

* * *

 

"Where have you been?!" Petra snaps as soon as I clamber in through the window.

"It's been a long day," I sigh. As if it were second nature, I fall backwards onto my bed and close my eyes.

Petra's angered footsteps coming towards me suggest that now's probably not the time for sleeping. "Oh no you don't." I can practically hear the scowl in her voice. "You've been keeping your uncle waiting for goodness knows how long. Dinner was served ages ago, and I had to tell everyone that you're not feeling well to give you more time."

Grudgingly, I open my eyes and Petra drags me out of bed. Literally.

Half asleep, I sway a little as I attempt to stand up straight whilst Petra examines me, muddling up my already tousled hair and shifting my clothes.

Well, Bertholdt's clothes.

"We don't have time to get you changed," she murmurs to herself. "This'll have to do." She stands back and admires her handiwork. "There. You look terrible."

"Much appreciated," I chuckle.

Shaking her head and struggling to hold back the smile at the corners of her lips, she pulls me out my bedroom door and leads me down the corridor.

"What on earth happened to you?" she asks as we pass the library.

"A lot," I sigh. "I won't be seeing him tomorrow, though."

Petra stops and turns to face me with knitted brows. Folding her arms, her scowl deepens. "What did that boy do?"

"Nothing! He did nothing! A lot just happened and he needs some time to… figure things out."

One of her eyebrows quirks upwards and her lips tighten. "What happened, Marco?" she asks dryly.

"A lot. Too much to tell you right now," I say hurriedly, gesturing towards the massive entrance of the great hall just a few doors away.

"Fine," she sighs. She scrunches up Bertholdt's tunic a little more and checks my hair again to make sure it's appropriately awful. "Remember, you're ill, you feel terrible… and Pastor Nick has joined us for dinner."

"You decide to tell me this now?"

Rolling her eyes, she jabs her thumb towards the great hall and leaves, heading for the training grounds.

Right. I'm ill. I feel terrible. I prayed today. I'm a good prince.

Shame, I'm a terrible liar.

All eyes are on me the very moment I enter the hall. Dinner has already been placed on the largest table at the back of the hall and it looks as if it's already cold.

Sheepishly, I walk over to the two men sitting around the food, staring at it with hunger burning in their eyes.

My uncle Erwin sits at the head of the table with Pastor Nick next to him and an empty, set place opposite him, assumingly for me. Levi stands at full attention on the far side of the hall, eyes boring into the side of my head with that set in stone blank expression across his face. I can't tell what he's thinking, but I'm pretty sure he knows.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting for so long. I wasn't feeling well," I say attempting to put on a smile.

"Marco," Erwin smiles, "are you feeling any better?"

I sit down in my place and try not to look Pastor Nick in the eyes. "Unfortunately not, uncle."

Alright, maybe I could get used to lying, despite the uneasiness it's causing me.

"You look awful m'boy," Pastor Nick chuckles, shovelling a forkful of vegetables into his mouth. "Did you manage to get any reading done?"

Picking at the now freezing cold meat, I shake my head.

"You missed today's sermon. Do you think you'll be well enough for tomorrow's?" he asks, gobbling up more food.

"I hope so." I give him a painted on smile and cautiously start eating.

The three of us slip into an awkward silence and continue dining. Metal clattering on metal and Pastor Nick's grunts of happiness are the only sounds echoing around the grand walls.

My uncle and I exchange a worried glance as the pastor continues to devour the contents of the table. He just shrugs with a sigh, completely defeated.

“Was that Petra I saw with you, Marco?” the pastor asks as pieces of food come flying from his mouth.

Pushing a carrot around my plate with my fork, I nod, keeping my eyes on my food and not the stuff that’s been spat across the table.

“She should just become your nurse since she’s around you so much,” he chuckles.

Opening my mouth to hiss back at him, I catch Erwin’s eye. He shakes his head slightly with a serious tone to his eyes, warning me not to do anything stupid.

Once I shut my mouth and recline back into my seat, he seems satisfied and turns to the pastor. “Petra’s one of the best soldiers in the kingdom. I don’t think there’s any need for her to be demoted from her title. Besides, Marco’s nearly nineteen; he can take care of himself.”

Pastor Nick just hums in downfall and returns to eating. Silently, I thank my uncle and we do the same.

The silence returns. I certainly prefer it to the pastor’s rants, but I can’t help but feel out of place. I never used to feel like this, but I things are changing. I’m beginning to view things from other people’s perspectives, so even the things that I used to find normal are making me uneasy. Like the fact that not once whilst I’ve been here has there been any new about what’s happening in Jinae, or how no one seems to take any notice of the outside world. Jean said that people are dying out there, so why isn’t anyone doing anything about it? It doesn’t make sense to me.

An enormous burp suddenly erupts from the pastor's mouth, stopping thoughts, and I can't stifle my giggles. Erwin glares at me for my 'unprincely' behaviour, but it only makes me laugh harder. The pastor stops inhaling the food and stares at me without a clue as to what I'm laughing at. The sudden clatter of metal ceases my sniggers and I look down at the floor to see my fork lying on the floor.

"Shit." I reach down to--

Oh no.

Did I just curse?

I freeze and slam my hand over my repulsive mouth and bolt upright to be faced with pure horror spreading across Erwin’s and Pastor Nick's faces.

"Marco!" my uncle gasps.

Keeping my hand firmly over my mouth, I stammer, "I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I think you've been hanging around Levi for too long," he muses. The pastor hums in agreement.

A soft huff leaves Levi's nose. I don't think Erwin or Pastor Nick heard him as they continue to discuss my foul language. I must've picked it up from Jean.

Levi's still staring at me. I wonder if he knows about my necklace. I've definitely still got it on. I can feel the cold metal against my chest.

"Marco?" Pastor Nick asks.

I come out of my daydream and pay attention to the man opposite me. "Sorry? My mind was wondering."

"Maybe you should go to bed," Uncle Erwin suggests. "You really do look awful and you've eaten hardly anything."

If only I could eat more. I'm starving. But since Petra said that I'm unwell, I can't suddenly start wolfing down food.

Regrettably, I nod, trying to suppress the rumbling sound coming from my stomach.

"I'll escort the shitty brat back to his room," Levi grumbles.

" _Levi_!" Erwin glowers. The shorter just shrugs and begins to walk out of the hall. Hurriedly, I thank my uncle and the pastor for their company and chase after him.

As soon as we're out of Erwin and the pastor's hearing range, I realise something. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Did what?" Levi replies, still walking in front of me, staring directly ahead.

"Curse in front of my uncle."

He stops and turns to face me.

"I'm not an idiot, Marco. I know you sneak out. I don't know where to and I couldn't give two shits, just as long as you return unharmed. Whoever you go and see when you leave the castle clearly doesn't know how to clean his mouth out, assuming it's a he..."

"It's a he," I confirm, nodding my head.

"That’s what I thought," Levi says, pursing his lips. Without saying another word, and not having answered my question, he turns away and continues walking towards my room.

There's no use asking him again. He'll either deny it, or change the subject, like he did just then.

We walk in silence. He keeps walking in front of me, stomping his feet and swinging his arms as if it were a march with little effort put in to it.

I pull the necklace out of its hiding place under my tunic and smile at the pendant. I am worried about him. Jean, I mean.

He may act all big and powerful, but in reality, he's scared. Who wouldn't be? I know I am.

I've been thrown into a dangerous and mysterious world that I never knew existed until I met Jean, and I don't think I ever want to leave.

I may be surrounded by monsters, and could possibly be walking directly behind one, but it's the rush of excitement that makes me stay. It's as if the adrenaline keeps pulling me in. But the thing that scares me the most is the fact that I've been completely oblivious to the fact that these creatures have been living right under my nose, or living with me, according to Jean.

I wonder if he was right about Levi.

I run my thumb over the engraving again, hoping that Jean will be alright and that I won't return to complete havoc tomorrow. I think I've had enough of monsters for a--

Wait. Did Levi just squirm?

I'm sure he did.

Maybe it was just a shiver. It has been quite cold recently.

I examine the pendant a little closer, peering at all the small dents and scratches on the metal. I can feel all the cracks on my skin as I hold it in my palm.

Alright, now I'm sure Levi squirmed that time.

What if Jean _was_ right?

I pull the necklace off and hold it out in front of me, closer to Levi's head. His shoulders instantly shoot up and he curls into himself slightly. He keeps walking, trying not to take any notice.

I hold it even closer to him. Another squirm, but with a grunt of discomfort this time.

I wonder what would happen if the necklace touched him?

I walk a little faster. As soon as he's in arms reach, I hold the pendant above the small patch of skin on his neck where his tunic is a little too loose for his small figure. I slowly lower the pendant closer and closer and--

"Get that necklace away from me. It's giving me a fucking headache," he growls, rubbing his temples.

What?

He knows. Jean was right.

I come to a standstill. I'm shaking. I've trusted him this whole time and he's a…

"Y-you're a... I-- what?" My mouth goes dry. I can barely speak, let alone stand, so I lean against the wall and my head falls back, knocking the cold stone. Fear creeping through me, I take a glance at the monster that I've trusted for so long. Arms folded, brows furrowed and eyes as blank as canvas, he's facing me and glaring.

The cold metal of the pendant is clasped safely in my hand. It's the only thing that's giving me hope in this moment.

"You know, don't you?" he frowns.

I nod.

"Is that why you have the necklace?"

I nod again.

"Did _he_ give it to you?"

"Yes." I keep my back firmly pressed against the wall as Levi edges closer. When he gets too close for comfort, I hold the necklace out in front of me and he winces. "I trusted you," I whisper.

Scowling, he takes a step backwards, shielding himself from the pendant's abilities. "You still can," he grunts. "I'm on your side."

"Prove it to me," I hiss, shoving the necklace further forwards.

"Get that fucking thing away from me and I will." With all the strength he can possibly manage, he stands to his full height, grimacing and his eyes burn as they burrow into mine. "Marco," he cringes, "you can trust me."

He's shaking. I don't think he can stand for much longer.

Hesitating slightly, I pull the cord around my neck again and tuck the pendant under the material of my tunic. As soon as the metal is covered, Levi breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he exhales as his shoulders come down and his chest heaves.

"You still have to prove that you're on my side," I warn.

With a curt nod, he spins on his heel and continues towards my room.

* * *

 

Levi shoves me through the threshold and orders me to sit on my bed. In fear for my own life since I still don't quite trust him yet, I obey, shivering as I sink into the material of my mattress. He sits down beside me.

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he sighs, "I can't believe I'm showing you this."

Before I can protest, he turns his back to me and lifts up his overly loose tunic.

I wasn't prepared for this.

Long, jagged, white scars cover his entire back. They're thick and deep with creased skin wrinkling at the sides. They seem to cover almost every part of the skin that had once been clear, now shredded.

He pulls his tunic up higher to show his shoulders.

Bite marks have punctured his skin and seem to have dragged downwards over the flesh, creating wide, ripped lines. He's been mauled. The scars may be faded slightly, but I can almost feel the pain that Levi must have gone through to get them.

"How?" I ask, tempted to run my fingers over the wounds.

"Did he tell you about the Caedem?" Levi inquires, shoving the tunic back down before I can touch him, and turns to face me again.

"Yes. He did."

Levi stares at me for a moment, waiting for all the information I've been given to sink in.

Oh. I understand now.

"The Caedem. They did that to you?" I tremble.

Levi nods. "I told them I didn't want anything to do with them anymore." He pauses and clasps his hands together, resting them on his chin and leans forwards. "I didn't like killing people, Marco. It was awful. The way they looked at me when I had to..." He stops himself from going any further. Glazed eyes stare into nothingness and his hands begin to shake. I can't even bear to imagine what he saw whilst he was part of the Caedem.

"I was the first to leave," he continues. "As a punishment, they did _that_ to me." He unclasps his hands and jabs his thumb to point at his now clothed back. "If I'd stayed for a moment longer, they would have killed me."

Despite his trembling limbs, he still wears the same black expression I've known and have familiarised myself with for so long. I've never seen this side of Levi before, and I don't think I want to ever again.

"I decided to continue on posing as a human. I found work with your father and now my job is to protect you." He turns to me with the same expression of seriousness he always has, but his eyes tell me that he's sincere in every word that leaves him. "I mean you no harm, Marco."

"I believe you," I nod. He's digging his nails so hard into his hands I'm worried that he may bleed.

"Good." He relaxes a little and gets up, headed for the door. He’s returned to his usual self again. "One more thing," he says, staring down at the handle, "forget everything you think you know about my kind. We may look and act like you, but we're different. We've evolved to bear the sunlight and control when we mutate into our true form. We're constantly maturing. We've become immune to the effects of holy water and stakes through the chest. We're almost invincible."

"Almost?" I frown.

Levi stares over his shoulder and nods gravely. "Tell your friend that if he wants to kill a vampire, he needs silver."

Without another word or action, he leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

 

This day will be the death of me, I swear. There’s nothing to do here except stay in my room and read the selection of books the pastor has given me or sleep. I just want to go outside. I don’t care if it’s cold like Erwin had said this morning at breakfast, shivering as he sat down. I want to have some kind of freedom. I want to run through the castle gardens with arms wide and pretend that I’m flying like I used to. I want to jump into the pond stark naked and feel the water against my skin. Even the fish in there have more freedom than me. I want to break down that stupid wall keeping me in here like a prisoner. This place is a cage and Jinae is no different. I just want to get out, even if it’s just for a little while.

I’m rarely allowed to leave my room unless I have permission from Levi. He always gives it, but it’s just a matter of whether I hear him wandering around the corridors. Other than that, I’m stuck in here.

My mother once told me a fairy tale about a princess with long golden hair who was locked in a tower and was never allowed out until her Prince Charming came to save her.

That’s how I feel, except I don’t have a Prince Charming and I never will, nor am I female or have lavish blonde locks.

Marco, shut up.

It’s hopeless. I’m trapped all day with worry constantly on my mind.

I stop pacing around my room like a madman and flop onto my bed with a groan. It really is useless.

I roll over onto my back and stare up at the cracked ceiling. There are 34 cracks up there. I’ve counted them before. Sighing, I pull my pillow over my face and scream into it. It’s not even midday and I’m already going insane. I should be used to being caged by now, but the little taste of the outside world that Jean gives me just makes me crave more. I’m enraptured by it.

Footsteps echo down the corridor outside my room and I jolt out of bed and over to the door. Once yanking it open I peer outside in hopes to see Levi.

No, it’s Erd.

Where on earth is Levi?

“E-Erd,” I stammer. He pauses just in front of my door and gives me a friendly smile.

“Your Highness?”

My face burns red. Why can’t people just call me by my name? “U-uh, is Levi around?” I ask, gripping onto the doorframe harder and shuffling my feet.

Clicking his tongue, Erd scratches the tip of his beard with his thumb, looking perplexed. “I believe he’s on the training grounds having a one-on-one with Oluo,” he muses. He looks to me again. “Do you need him?”

“Y-yes please.”

With a nod, he walks away. Now I just have to wait.

* * *

 

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Levi grumbles as he enters my room. “Aren’t you going to see your friend?”

I pull my head away from my pillow and sit up, shaking my head. “Not today.”

Huffing, he leans in the open doorway and folds his arms. “What do you want?”

“Please can I leave my room?”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Are Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie done with training yet?”

“For the morning they are. They’re having a break.”

I sit up straighter, preparing to scramble out the door. “Can I go see them?”

Rolling his eyes, he nods. I rise from the soft mattress and head towards the door, when Levi stops me.

“You’re still wearing the necklace,” he says, scowling somewhat. “Still don’t trust me?”

He can see the cord poking out of my tunic. I pull some material over it and shrug slightly. “I do trust you. I just… I like it, I guess.”

He nods. “Just don’t goggle at it with me around, and don’t let Erwin see it… or anyone else for that matter.”

Once I’m sure he doesn’t want to say anything else, I nod and I run out the room, thanking him as he moves to let me past.

It may be temporary, but for now this is closest I have to freedom.

I keep running. I don’t stop until I scamper outside and I realise that I should probably listen to Erwin when he says it’s cold.

Cold is an understatement. This is freezing. It’s June for crying out loud!

Clouds cover every part of the grey sky, concealing the sun and only letting the tiniest of rays escape. The sharp breeze swirls through the thin material of my tunic and I shiver. Rubbing my arms in hope of some form of friction, I make my way to the stables, attempting to ignore the cold.

As soon as I walk into the barn, I’m hit by a wall of heat and I spy Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie sitting on wooden crates amongst the hay, revelling in the warmth, discussing today’s training regimen.

“I have sword training _all afternoon_ ,” Reiner stresses. “I can’t cope with that!”

“Maybe you pissed Levi off yesterday,” Annie says coldly, taking a bite of her apple.

“Alright, so I nearly shot him in the head with an arrow, but that was an accident.”

“He looked pretty pissed off,” Bertholdt chuckles. He spots me coming towards them and frowns. “Marco! You’re not sneaking out today?”

“No, not today.” I shake my head and Reiner pulls up a crate for me to sit on. “Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?” I tease.

“No, the fact that you’re here is fantastic,” Bertholdt jumps, waving his hands frantically. “It’s just… odd.”

Annie frowns at me. Her munches and the huffs of the horses are the only sounds as they try to figure out why I’m here. “I thought you sneaked out every day,” she muses, her mouth full of apple.

“Turns out I can’t today.”

“Why?” Reiner frowns, reaching over for a bite of Annie’s apple. She jolts away from him with a scowl and flicks his nose like a disobedient dog. Rubbing the tip of his nose with his finger, he sits back again, whilst Annie continues eating with a smug grin.

“I just can’t,” I shrug.

“You know, Marco,” Reiner sighs, “you haven’t even told us _where_ you sneak off to.”

Bertholdt starts fiddling with a strand of hay, twisting it between his fingers. Annie’s blank eyes watch my every breath and Reiner just frowns at me. They’re studying me, expecting an answer or thinking up their own.

I let them. They’re certainly not getting a reaction from me.

Reiner suddenly scoffs to himself and doubles over, laughing. He must have thought of something amusing. Oh dear.

“What if he goes to a brothel?” he giggles.

Letting off a defeated sigh, Bertholdt slams his palm to his face and shakes his head. “Why, Reiner?”

“Yes, Reiner, I’ve been spending every day since I’ve arrived in Trost at a brothel. You’ve got me,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes.

“Our prince is no longer pure,” Reiner sniffs, holding his hand over his heart. Trying to hold back my amused smile, I shake my head at him.

Bertholdt can’t stop his giggles. “Reiner, you’re a bad influence.”

Although I don’t really want to talk about that kind of thing, at least they’ve changed the sub--

“I know where he goes,” Annie announces, breaking her silence and the eruptions of laughter coming from the rest of us.

Oh no.

Reiner and Bertholdt snap to attention and gape at her. “What? How?” Reiner frowns.

I’ll stay silent. That’ll work. If I don’t say anything, they won’t pester.

“Your necklace. I’ve seen it before,” Annie says, pointing to my chest.

I look down to notice the rune that Jean gave me hanging loose out of its hiding place under the material of my clothes. Before Reiner and Bertholdt can examine it themselves, I tuck it back into my tunic and fold my arms.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Annie asks.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I shrug.

Her gaze becomes colder. “Don’t lie, Marco. There’s only one place you could have gotten that necklace from. I’ve been there before.”

Leaning in towards each other, Reiner and Bertholdt purse their lips and try to understand what’s going on. “What’s she talking about?” Bertholdt whispers.

“No idea,” Reiner replies.

“Why are you seeing him?” Annie snaps.

Taken aback by her sudden outburst – apparently so are Reiner and Bertholdt, they’re staring at her wide eyed – I lean backwards, nearly falling off the crate. Steadying myself, I meet her glare again.

“Why him?” she asks.

“He’s not as bad as you think.”

Seemingly disappointed, she shakes her head. “You’re naïve. I’ve heard what people on the streets say about him. I’ve _met_ him. He’s a monster.”

Reiner and Bertholdt are listening to every word that comes out of her mouth intently, looking at her completely astounded.

“He’s dangerous, Marco,” Annie continues. “Bad things happen to people who associate themselves with him.”

Bertholdt’s face drops—yet Reiner continues to look flabbergasted. Bertholdt seems to be talking with his inner self at the moment, avoiding everyone else’s gaze. I wonder what triggered it.

“The witch’s son,” he breathes. Our eyes fall onto him. “Marco, you can’t.”

Reiner looks completely lost. He has no idea what’s going on. I hope it stays that way.

“Marco he’s dangerous. What if you get hurt?” Bertholdt frowns.

Clutching the pendant through my tunic, I shake my head. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, he just wouldn’t be able to control his…” he trails off as he notices Reiner’s mystified state.

“Who the hell is the witch’s son?” Reiner asks, puzzled.

Before anyone can answer him, Armin enters the barn. I catch their line of sight. “Not a word,” I mutter to them. Obediently, they nod.

It’s not that I don’t trust Armin, I do. I just need to be careful that not too many people know about my escapes.

“Hey, Armin,” Reiner smiles cheerily, “you weren’t in this morning. Where’d you go?”

The mood changes instantly. What was an awkward and harsh atmosphere became light-hearted the moment Armin walked in. I’m too relieved to put it into words.

“O-oh, sorry,” Armin smiles sheepishly, “I had to go visit a friend.” He drags an upturned bucket over to us and sits next to me, smiling blankly as he settles down.

Something’s wrong.

“Are you alright, Armin?” I ask.

His leg starts twitching. Drumming his fingers on his knee at an erratic speed, he sighs. “My friend’s a little under the weather at the moment,” he mumbles.

“Do you know what’s wrong with them?” Bertholdt asks.

Armin shakes his head. “No idea. I think he’s a little worried.”

“Shouldn’t you take him to see a doctor?” Reiner frowns.

A breathless laugh leaves Armin and he scrunches up his nose in disagreement. “He’s an odd one. He doesn’t believe in doctors, says they’re incompetent.”

Why does that remind me of a certain someone?

“How odd,” Bertholdt muses. Reiner hums in accord.

I place my hand on Armin’s shoulder and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll get better.”

“Me too.” The sincerity in his eyes makes me believe him wholly. He seems really worried about his friend.

We decide to drop the subject. Clearly it’s distressing for him to talk about.

A shiver runs down my spine.

* * *

 

The rest of the day passes uneventfully.

After Gunther had stormed into the stables demanding that we stop slacking (then needlessly apologising for shouting at me), Annie glared at me one more time then left for the training grounds with Bertholdt and Reiner—still looking bewildered and searching for answers. Armin got up without a fuss and began tending to the horses, still seeming vacant.

I’m worried about him. I seem to be worried about a lot of people at the moment.

I hope Jean’s alright.

* * *

 

I’m getting food everywhere, but to be honest, I don’t care. I finally get to see Jean today and the nerves are killing me. The sooner I get there and see he’s alright, the better.

“Slow down, Marco,” Erwin chuckles. “You’ll give yourself a stomach ache.”

“Sorry, Uncle,” I mumble, biting into some bread.

Unimpressed with my manners, Erwin rolls his eyes with a smile. “What’s the rush?” he asks.

“Uh…”

Great start, Marco.

“Th-the pastor left me some books yesterday. I want to try and read them all today.”

That should do it.

To cover up my guilt of lying again, I take a sip of my drink to cover my face and refrain from eye contact.

“You still have the books from the other day,” Erwin says, watching my every move. “You haven’t even touched them.” I feel as if he knows something’s not right.

Then again, I always feel like that.

I don’t answer him.

Once I’ve completely cleaned my plate, I stare at my uncle expectantly, begging wordlessly to let me leave early. He just laughs at me.

“Feeling better I see?”

“Much.” I widen my smile a little to prove my point.

“Fine, you can go,” he sighs.

As soon as I’ve thanked him for the tenth time, I scramble out of the Great Hall and sprint towards my bedroom.

“Slow down, Marco! How many times do I have to tell you?” he calls.

“Sorry, Uncle!” I shout back, still sprinting. As soon as I’m by the staircase leading up to my room, I dash up them, not caring about running out of breath.

Bad idea.

By the time I get to the top, my stomach is killing me. I cling onto my aching belly and stagger the rest of the way to my room. When I peer around the corner, Annie’s leaning against the wall with her arms folded, waiting for me.

I’m really not looking forward to this.

My stomach still in pain, I clutch it harder and walk over to her.

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” she inquires.

“You’re not going to try and stop me, are you?” I ask warily. Truth be told, if she was going to try, I’d be running for the hills—bad stomach or not. Annie _terrifies_ me.

She shakes her head, much to my relief. “Just be careful.”

She’s not the first to say that to me and I have a feeling she won’t be the last.

Surprisingly, Annie leaves, muttering under her breath.

With a sigh of relief, I race into my bedroom and fish under my bed for the clothes that Bertholdt has so kindly let me keep. Nearly hitting my head on the bedframe, my hand runs over the material and I pull out his tunic and trousers.

After nearly falling out the window from tripping over the unbelievably long trouser legs and fitting the tunic so it doesn’t look like a tablecloth on me, I’m ready to leave.

As I do every time I go to see Jean, I clamber out of the window after checking the grounds below me are clear and climb down the wall, trying not to get Bertholdt’s tunic caught in the ivy.

It’s not as easy as it sounds.

After squeezing through the hole in the wall that I despise so much, I just need to run through Trost like a madman. Running through the centre of Trost is as straightforward as always. It’s just a nonstop line leading straight to the… field.

The field is _never_ easy.

An exasperated sigh leaves me as the vast green comes into view.

Humiliation here I come.

I look down at my feet the whole time I’m walking, when I should be looking ahead of me. Like every single attempt before, I fall into a rabbit hole.

Oh for goodness sake.

As much as I struggle and whine, my foot won’t budge.

I’m _very_ stuck.

I look up from my… unfortunate situation. Jean’s shop isn’t too far away. Maybe if I call him he can pull me out.

He’s not going to let me live this down.

“Jean?” I call.

I wait patiently for a reply, but I don’t get one.

He should be there. He definitely said one day.

Wiggling my foot, I try again. “Jean!”

Finally, the door of the shop opens and a person walks out.

But it’s not Jean.

A woman wearing glasses and scruffy, tied up hair and… is she wearing men’s clothes?

… She’s wearing men’s clothes.

“Hello!” she chirps, waving at me jovially. “Jean’s a little busy right now; do you think you can come back later?”

Gaping at her, I look down at my positively stuck foot and shrug, entirely defeated.

This woman can’t be serious. I can’t move for crying out loud.

She follows my line of sight to my foot and realisation hits her. “Oh! Sorry!” She runs over to me, _somehow_ evading the other rabbit holes and grabs onto my arm

With a grunt, she yanks me out of the hole, making us both topple over. “Thank you,” I groan. I think I landed on my back strangely.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone,” she chuckles, standing up and brushing the dirt off her clothes.

I pull myself up after her – in extreme discomfort – and nod.

She holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Hanji, Jean’s aunt,” she smiles brightly.

I have to pause for a moment to register what’s going on.

Hanji. Hanji as in the Jinae witch? The witch who was there when my mother…

This is the witch I am indebted to.

But I can’t tell her.

Almost forgetting how to function, I shake her hand with a slightly more cheery attitude. “Marc. I’m Jean’s apprentice.”

Hanji’s eyes widen. “Oh it’s _you_. Jean said you’d be here,” she gasps. Grabbing onto my wrist, she pulls me towards the shop before I can protest. “Warning: it’s a bit of a mess in here.”

We dodge the rest of the rabbit holes and I take note of the location of every single one for future reference.

“You little shit!” comes Jean’s voice from inside, followed by the sound of glass smashing.

Well, at least he’s back to his usual self.

A feeling of dread washes over me as we approach the front door.

Please don’t be vampires. Please don’t be vampires. Please don’t be vampires.

Hanji pushes open the door.

I brace myself for the worst.

Hanji was right. It really is a mess in here. There’s shattered glass everywhere and spilled liquids all over the countertop. Books have been toppled off the shelves and Jean’s beloved crystal display has almost been demolished. Yet I can’t see the culprit of the chaos.

“Don’t. Move,” Jean commands quietly. Standing in the centre of the shop with his arm outstretched, his eyes are burning and they’re looking right above Hanji and me.

Her grip tightens around my wrist and we become like statues.

Fearing to look upwards, I keep my eyes fixed on Jean and listen to the soft growling above the doorway.

Just as I expected: carnage.

The growling turns into snarling and I look to Jean to just _do something already_.

Slowly, Jean brings his arm into him and rubs his hands together; still watching whatever’s above the doorway.

The snarling gets harsher. Jean’s riling himself up for something, I can tell.

“Come on then, you ugly fuck,” he hisses.

Whatever is above us screeches in fury and a scaly, clawed creature jumps down from its perch. Back hunched and ready to pounce, it turns its head slightly towards the door and _grins_ at Hanji and me. Putrid yellow teeth hiding a slimy black tongue smile back at us and my hairs stand on end. After eyeing us up, it turns to Jean again and begins walking towards him.

Jean just stands there and holds his hands out in front of him, moulding them into a ball shape. The creature I believe to recognise as a gremlin is getting too close to him for comfort. Painstakingly slow, the gremlin edges nearer and Jean watches it with cold, blank eyes.

A familiar sight begins to play out before my eyes as light begins to shine through the cracks between Jean’s fingers. The gremlin snarls at him, almost biting at his ankles and Jean grins wickedly at it.

“You’re fucked.”

Everything becomes a blur. With an almighty yell, Jean slams his hands in front of him towards the gremlin, and a scorching ball of light shoots from his palms. It latches onto the skin of the creature below him and sinks into the skin. Jean’s grin widens. The gremlin’s following screech is so ear-splittingly awful I wrestle out of Hanji’s hand wrapped securely around my wrist and block my ears. Muffled screaming echoes all around me and I watch as the gremlin _explodes_ right before my very eyes and crumbles into a pile of ashes. Jean’s face falls and he looks up at me. My arms fall to my side and my jaw hangs slack at the floating soot in the air.

“Just let it all sink in, Marc,” Jean chuckles.

…

What the hell?!

“W-what just… how? What? You?” I won’t stop blabbering. My mind isn’t registering what’s going on.

Jean can do _more_?

“Come on. We’re going out,” Jean sighs, stepping over the pile of dust that’s forming on the ground. He starts pushing me back through the front door again, but I can barely walk.

“W-what? Why? How did you…?” I stutter, pointing at the ash.

“Have fun, boys!” Hanji gleams as we leave the shop.

How can they be so blasé about this?! Am I the only one who saw what just happened? Jean just _blew up_ a gremlin.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Jean chuckles, clearly feeling a lot better. “But I do need you to walk properly. I am _not_ carrying you.”

I nod, still stunned and manage to get my feet to function properly.

* * *

 

At first we walk in silence. I have so many questions; I don’t know where to begin.

Where are we going? Why did he want me gone yesterday? What happened whilst I was gone? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED BACK THERE?

Just reasonable things.

“Has your sanity returned yet?” Jean asks as we draw closer to town.

“Just about.”

“Would you like me to explain?”

“Please do.”

He chuckles and nods. Taking a deep breath, he rolls his shoulders back, as if he were preparing for a large speech. “I can blow shit up,” he announces.

“You don’t say,” I sigh dryly.

He side glances at me and then continues speaking, “Those two days weren’t easy, Marc. I nearly killed Gumbie.”

“How?” I frown.

“He jumped out at me so I put my arms in front of me and nearly blew him up. That’s how I found out,” he shrugs.

“That’s rough,” I mumble. I genuinely mean it. I wouldn’t want to nearly blow up my familiar.

“Tell me about it,” he mutters, flicking his belt buckle.

“Is there anything else you can do?” I ask.

He shakes his head, screwing his face up as the smell of the city hits him. “Not that I know of.”

I smile at him. “Do you feel better?”

He nods. “Thank you by the way… for not freaking out. It means a lot.”

Now that he comes to mention it, any other person probably would freak out about this. I don’t know why I’m not. This is worrying, terrifying even, yet I’m perfectly fine. It may have been a shock to the system, but I’m fine now. I’m completely fine with the fact that Jean can mould his skin together, create balls of light and blow things up. Why? No idea.

“Just as long as you’re alright and you won’t blow me up, it’s fine.” I coax a laugh out of him and he pats my shoulder, leaving his hand there and leading me into the centre of Trost.

“That’s not going to happen.” I believe him.

All goes quiet for a few paces. The smell keeps getting worse.

“Jean, where are we going?” I frown.

“Oh. Right.” He takes his hand off me and points towards a rundown bar ahead of us. “We’re celebrating. You’ve officially put up with me for an entire week.”

I frown. “It’s been six days.”

He shrugs. “I need to teach you something important tomorrow so we won’t have time to celebrate.” How intriguing. “However, you’ll be meeting a few of my friends today,” he says cautiously as if asking for my permission.

I nod and smile at him. I need to meet more people anyway. Any friend of Jean’s is a friend of mine.

“Oh, don’t listen to anything Eren says about me. He’s an idiot.” We pause outside the door of the bar and I look at Jean completely perplexed. He sighs. “You’ll see what I mean when we get in there.”

The bar door swings open and I’m hit by the overpowering smell of tobacco and cheap alcohol. The bar is dimly lit by a few candles nailed to the pillars keeping the roof up and shifty looking men ponder away in the shadows, each one with their eyes on Jean and me. The soft hubbub of the place quietens as Jean leads me inside and I take in the full view of the bar. The barman smiles at us – more so at Jean – and stops talking to the woman sitting in front of him.

“Jean!” he smiles, pointing to two spare seats at the bar. “It’s not Thursday yet, what’re you doing here?”

The other heads at the bar turn to face us, their features unrecognisable in the shadow clouding them.

"Just thought I'd come say hello," Jean chuckles.

“Hey, horseface!” one of them shouts, waving his arm.

Why do I have the feeling that this is Eren?

“I swear, Jaeger, if you call me that one more time…” Jean growls behind gritted teeth.

The two of us sit down in the seats indicated to us by the barman and I take in the unknown faces staring at me in the new found light being given out by a freshly lit candle.

Jean and the one I believe to be Eren are scowling at each other whilst a friendly looking woman smiles at me sweetly. The barman nods in greeting and—

Armin?!

Wide blue eyes stare back at me only a few spaces away and he’s practically trembling. He covers his mouth to hide his gasp and the argument raging between Eren and Jean have riled up has been reduced to nothing but a murmur. Slowly, I shake my head at Armin, begging him not to say anything and he nods, still staring in horror.

“… well if your big ugly face actually did something, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” Eren scowls.

What?

The noise regains its audibility and I look to find Jean and Eren already at each other’s throats with the barman in the middle trying to calm them down.

Oh dear.

“I’ll have you know, Eren, I go through more shit than you think. You have no idea what Marc and I have seen this week,” Jean huffs.

Eren frowns and sits back, relaxing his tensed shoulders, allowing the barman to sigh in relief and return to making drinks.

The dim light catches in Eren’s green eyes and he looks towards me. “Is this Marc?” he asks.

Jean nods.

“New boyfriend?”

Jean clips the back of his head and the woman giggles. I can feel my face redden.

“He’s my apprentice," Jean corrects him.

Eren gets out of his seat and walks over to me, arm outstretched. “Sorry,” he smiles. “I’m Eren.”

“Nice to meet you,” I smile back, shaking his hand.

He holds my gaze for as long as he can before Jean starts grumbling that Eren should get his own apprentice. Nudging my shoulder with yet another warm smile, he returns to his seat to be met by Jean's glare.

I’m beginning to feel settled in already.

* * *

 

I soon learn that the barman’s name is Connie and he helps to run this bar with his boss, Joe. The woman’s name is Sasha. She’s Connie’s fiancée. The two of them are quite an amusing pair, constantly cracking jokes. They seem nice, Eren too. However, I can feel the tension between him and Jean. They've been staring each other down ever since we came in.

"And this is Armin," Sasha smiles signalling to Armin.

He blushes slightly and clears his throat. "A-actually I already know… Marc," he says, hesitating on my fake name. He nods at me to hopefully continue.

"Y-yes, that's right. I'm the prince's manservant, so Armin and I work together in the castle." I hope I remembered the same story I told Jean.

"Really?" Armin mouths, frowning somewhat, whilst the others all hum in interest.

"So you've met the prince then?" Sasha gasps, her eyes going dreamy, much to Connie's disapproval.

"Um… yes."

"What's he like?" Eren asks.

I feel like I'm swallowing sand. I can't answer that.

"C-can I have a drink please?" I ask Connie, hopefully changing the subject, or buy myself time. Either works.

Giggling, Sasha leans across the bar towards me. "I suggest you have the house ale," she grins.

Jean pushes her back into her seat and scowls at her. "You know, Sasha, I'd prefer it if Marc was actually _standing_ by the time we leave." Swivelling in his seat, he turns to face me. "Unless you want to end up drunk like Eren will be by the evening, I'd just have some cider."

"What?!" Eren shouts rising from his seat with his fists clenched.

Here we go again.

Whilst Jean tries to worm his way out of his situation, Connie sighs, looking completely done with the two of them and pours me a drink.

Before I can take a sip, Armin pulls me away from the bar. No one notices.

He pulls me into a shadowed corner of the bar and grips my arms. "We don’t have much time before the other will get suspicious so I’ll make this quick: you can't be here," he whispers. "People will look for you."

"Armin, I've been sneaking out to see Jean for a week now. No one _ever_ notices," I assure him.

His grip tightens. "Marco, you need to tell Jean. You can't lie to him."

"I know. And I will... it just takes time."

He'll kill me though.

"What if someone finds out? What will you do then?"

I look back at the scene occurring at the bar. Jean and Eren seem to have calmed down now and are laughing at something Connie said. Jean's laugh is the loudest. It overpowers every sound in the room and I can't help but smile.

"I won't let anyone find out. I'm too happy to let it happen."

Letting go of me, he nods and smiles warily. "I'll help you,” he sighs. “But please promise me something?"

I nod. "Anything."

"Please be careful."

Armin's warning is the only one that sinks in. All the others have washed over me, but the sincerity in his voice makes me realise how important this really is to me.

This is my freedom. And no one is going to take that away from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, that last bit was so rushed, I'm sorry! I guess I just gave up on the last few paragraphs. Meh...
> 
> If anyone was wondering [this](https://img0.etsystatic.com/027/0/8676750/il_570xN.558118140_brt2.jpg) is Marco's necklace.
> 
> Next chapter: "Goddamit, Eren!", dancing Marco and some surprise apperances... 
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	5. Failed Wishes On Shooting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is what happens when it's the summer holidays and you don't leave the house for days on end: early update!  
> I think this is probably the longest chapter yet (what can I say? Jean likes to talk a lot), so for that I apologise.  
> Again, thank you so much for all the lovely comments I've been receiving about the last chapter, it really does mean a lot and they always make me smile.  
> Unfortunately, because this chapter ended up being so long... I had to cut a bit out. However, it will appear in a later chapter, I promise!  
> I don't think I have any warnings for this particular chapter, but I really hope you guys like this one, because I loved writing it.  
> Enjoy!

Everything is bleak and dying. Death clings to the bitter air like a parasite, decaying everything in its path. Plants are wilting, rivers aren’t running and the air is so thick I can barely breathe. The wind is no longer singing its silent song, the trees aren't moving and the cold is getting stronger. The field lying before me is completely desolate and dead. Grey skies are no surprise on a day like this, but they usually bring something with them.

But there's nothing.

I feel nothing.

I'm entirely numb.

It's too quiet here. I can’t hear the sound of the grass rustling in the light breeze, or the usual stirrings from the forest of soft murmurs and whispers in a tongue I can’t comprehend. I hear them every day. It’s impossible _not_ to hear them. They worm their way into my head and burrow themselves into my mind so that no matter where I go, the voice of the forest stays with me constantly.

It’s silent today. I don’t know whether to be overjoyed of fucking terrified.

Whatever’s going on in that forest can’t be good if nothing’s making any noise.

Unless they’re all dead so whoopity fucking doo for me. However, that means there must be something bigger and nastier out there.

That theory sends shivers to the very core of me. If I have trouble fighting off a new-born vampire, then something bigger…

Gumbie jumps up onto the counter top and nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck, begging for attention. A soft mew leaves him whilst I continue to ignore him and revise the ingredients that I need for today and make sure that Marc stays the fuck away from the wolf’s bane. That shit is lethal in his hands.

Wait. That’s wrong. It’s lethal anyway.

Alright, it’s _more_ lethal when Marc has his hands on it.

Fucking wolf’s bane in fucking love potions. Does he want to kill his true love or something?

Gumbie meows again.

“What?” I snap, glaring at him. Dismissing my clear pissed off-ness, he starts purring and rolls onto his back, exposing his tummy. “Gumbie, no. I’m busy.”

He grumbles. I think he’s getting jealous of Marc.

Scratching one of his ears, I can’t help but smile at him. “Sorry. I’ll cuddle you as much as you want later. You’re still my main man, I promise.”

Seeming satisfied, he resumes purring and curls up into a ball beside me. I keep on reading. I don’t want to be holding a book the whole time I’m teaching Marc how to do this. I want to seem slightly intelligent at the least.

_Materials:_

_One pot of water, 7 sticks of cinnamon, 1  lemon, vinegar, milk, 1 candle and paper._

Seems simple enough. I’m pretty sure I have all of that somewhere in the shop. Mother won’t mind if I borrow a few of the supplies.

I can’t be bothered to go check the shelves like I usually do – I’m too tired.

All I seem to do every morning before Marc gets here is sit behind the counter, staring dryly into nothingness, hoping that someone will walk through the door. But no one ever does.

Gumbie often disappears now for days on end, so he’s rarely around to keep me company and I think the loneliness is beginning to get to me. Everyone is always busy. They all have their lives and I have my sorry excuse of one. They’re all going somewhere in life and I don’t even know if I’ll make it to my next birthday. I guess the only question on my mind is what I’m eventually going to die of. Loneliness or monsters? It’s a tough one.

Although I know I have Marc – and he does help – I don’t ever see him until the early afternoon.

My stomach rumbles, letting me know that it must be around lunchtime. Except, I’ve run out of food again and with the lack of customers recently, I don’t have the money to get any.

At least he’ll be here soon.

Now I just have to wait for him to get here—something that I’ve never been good at.

To pass the time, I decide to have a little fun.

Taking a deep breath, I clasp my hands into a ball shape and begin to feel my fingers tingling instantly. All the practice I’ve been doing is really paying off. I don’t even have to wait long now until the light begins to show through my skin.

Gumbie perks up and pays attention. He loves it when I do this.

I open out my hands and the light sits in my palm, glowing softly, making Gumbie completely spellbound. It’s nice just to watch it sometimes and not have to do anything with it. I can only use it to heal myself when it’s needed, as I found out the other day when Hanji thought it would be a good idea to nearly cut my thumb off and see what would happen. Luckily, I did heal myself before I bled to death. The blowing up thing on the other hand is a little harder to control. I have to be careful not to make my hand gestures too hasty in danger of accidentally shooting a flaming hot ball of light out of my palms and killing someone. But I can still hold it and look at it like I used to. I guess I really did take it for granted. I always thought it was just something to look nice and create light whenever I ran out of candles, but it’s so much more than that.

I think I’m beginning to like the fact that I have powers.

The front door creaks open and I fly out of my seat, throwing the light towards the figure coming in through the threshold.

Marc yelps and ducks down as the flaming ball shoots over him and out the door, dissipating as it hits the air.

“Careful!” he squeaks, standing straight again and feeling his body to make sure he’s not missing any limbs.

“Sorry,” I chuckle, running a hand along Gumbie’s back.

Holding his hand over his heart he laughs breathlessly and stumbles in, closing the door behind him. “That’s now the second time you’ve nearly killed me,” he chides.

I slump back into the stool and sigh at him. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Leaning against one of the bookcases, he relaxes and a smile spreads across his face, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Gumbie bounds off the counter and towards Marc, circling his ankles and meowing at him. Traitor.

“Don’t stroke him. He’s in a bad mood with me so he’s trying to get you on his side,” I warn. Marc nods and shrugs apologetically at my cat, who pads off grumbling once he’s realised that he won’t be getting any attention from either of us.

“So what are we doing today?” Marc asks.

“Curses,” I smile triumphantly.

“ _Curses?”_ he repeats, frowning slightly.

I shrug. “Why not?”

Straightening himself up, he chuckles to himself and looks over to me. “Fair enough.”

With a slight smile tugging at my lips, I roll my eyes.

“You know it’s been exactly a week now?” he smiles, folding his arms and leaning over the counter.

“I do.”

He tilts his head to one side. “Are you going to keep me as your apprentice? That was the deal after all.”

I would have thought that would have been pretty self-explanatory. He’s still here isn’t he? Why wouldn’t I want him as my apprentice?

“I suppose I have to,” I laugh. “You did save my life.”

Come to mention it, I don’t think I’ve thanked him enough for that. I probably never _will_ be able to.

“That’s good,” he smiles. It’s the kind of smile that a child would produce whilst they were being praised for doing something good by their mother. He looks genuinely _happy_ to be known as my apprentice, despite the shit I’ve put him through this last week.

No, I really haven’t thanked him enough.

I get out of my seat and walk over to his side of the counter. He stands up straight as I get closer to him and before he can say a word, I wrap my arms around his waist and burrow into his shoulder. He tenses up. Maybe this is a little too much. Maybe I should have just shook his hand or—

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in closer to him, laughing that stupid laugh he always does. I bet he probably has a massive grin slapped across his face too. I can hear his heartbeat quicken as he squeezes me tighter and mine races. “What’s this for?” he asks.

“For saving my life,” I mumble into his tunic. I can’t look him in the eye right now. Not when I’m being like this.

“You’ve already thanked me for that.”

I shrug. “I wanted to do it again.”

He holds me tighter. I honestly feel like crying.

I can never put enough emphasis on the fact that _he saved my life_. He actually cares enough about me to put his life at risk to save my own. I can’t ever thank him enough for that, so a shitty embrace where I’m trying not to blubber like a child will have to suffice.

Chokes begin to splutter out of the back of my throat and my face burns hotter. I pull away before we squeeze the life out of each other and I start crying all over him.

“So, um… thanks. Again,” I sniff, choking back the tingling feeling spreading throughout me.

“No problem. It’s what anyone would do,” he shrugs timidly.

Fair enough really.

Clearing my throat, I shrug away the awkwardness coiling in my gut and point to the open book on the desk.

Marc doesn’t even have to say anything. This is just routine now. He goes behind the counter and sits down, absorbing the scruffy handwriting on the page.

Whilst he’s doing that, I gather together the ingredients – or the ones I remember – from the shelves.

Fuck. I don’t have any lemons. I suppose the vinegar will be fine on its own… maybe.

I place all the available ingredients on the counter in front of him and he stares at them all, looking more worried than usual.

“Do we really have to do curses?” he asks.

“Yes. They’ll come in handy one day, trust me.”

Not seeming convinced, he sighs and lifts the vinegar to his nose and grimaces at the unbearable smell. “What is that?” he coughs.

“Vinegar. I don’t have any lemons.”

His brows furrow in confusion and I just shrug at him and reach behind him to grab my cauldron (pot) and take it outside to fill it with water. When I return, Marc’s mumbling the incantation on the page to himself, attempting to memorise it.

“You can just read it off the page if you want to,” I say, placing the cauldron alongside the other components.

He laughs. “It’s a very… harsh curse.”

“Thank you. I made it up myself.”

His face plummets the moment those words leave my mouth and he stares up at me in horror. _“You_ _write curses?”_

“Witches can write their own spells if they want to, yes.”

Tapping the book at a furious speed, he scowls up at me. “This isn’t a spell, Jean. This is a _curse_. You wrote a _curse_.”

“So what? Someone pissed me off one day and I wrote it.”

“Who was it?”

I shrug. “Well they’re dead now so it doesn’t really matter.”

Gaping at me, his eyes widen and he leans away from me slightly.

“Marc, I’m joking. I would never kill anyone,” I chuckle.

He rolls his eyes at me and sits straight again. I take this as my queue to start helping him mix everything together.

Thankfully the wolf’s bane is safely hidden in the back room, so there is no way in hell that he can fuck this one up.

The cinnamon sticks are first to be thrown into the pot and they dissolve into nothing almost as soon as they touch the water. Wincing, Marc pours in the vinegar and the sweet perfume of cinnamon is soon corrupted by the sour odour that sticks to your insides and corrodes them like acid. Then the milk goes in and the mixture turns a light brown colour as the off-white colour of the milk swirls in with the clear brown of the vinegar. Face screwing up, Marc peers into the pot and his brows furrow. “It looks putrid,” he says.

“That’s the point.”

He looks up at me. “Now what?” he asks, pointing to the candle.

I shake my head. “Not yet. First you need to decide who we’re going to curse.”

His frown deepens and he points to himself in horror. “Why _me_?”

“You’re the one who’s being taught. Therefore I get to torture you as much as I want.”

That didn’t sound right.

He doesn’t react, so I don’t either. Letting go an exasperated sigh, he places his hand over his face and mumbles, “You’re awful.” Grumbling and hiding his face away from me, he begins to muse to himself. I can see him worrying at his lip and he pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly in deep thought.

This should be interesting since I don’t think Marc could ever hurt a fly.

“Can you curse dead people?” he asks. I’m completely stunned. That didn’t take long to decide at all.

Interesting question, though.

“I suppose so… but you’ll get a pretty pissed off spirit haunting your ass.”

Hooking his fingers on the cord tied around his neck, he pulls out the necklace I gave him. “Wouldn’t this protect me?” he asks.

I have to take a moment. Is he actually still wearing it? He’s honestly wearing the necklace I gave him. I don’t believe it.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“Come to mention it… probably.”

Taking a deep breath, he mutters something incoherent to himself and nods. “I know who I want to curse.”

I nod.

After looking into the book, he takes the paper and a pencil and writes down the name ‘Kate Rhodes’.

No idea who that is – and I don’t think I want to ask.

We light the candle and watch for a moment as the flame flickers in the wind coming through the draught in the window. Once we’re sure it’s strong and won’t go out, Marc holds the paper over the fire and watches it turn to black with dark, emotionless eyes.

I’m starting to think this is a bad idea.

The paper crumbles into ash and charcoal and crushes he it in his hand, holding it over the cauldron. He looks to me for permission and I grant it.

Holding the book in his other hand, he recites the incantation written with a crack in his voice.

“There has been unfairness done to me. I summon the elements. I invoke them. I conjure them to do my bidding…” I can see his hand tensing, crushing the ashes of the paper even more. “…The four watchtowers shall lay their eyes and minds. There shall be fear, guilt and bad blood. There shall be submission and no pity…” This was a bad idea. A really fucking bad idea. He’s choking over every syllable and his eyes are getting darker. Hate coils within him and I can see it in his face as he grits his teeth together with a snarl. “… I point the three fold law against thee. Against thee it shall be pointed. Three fold, a hundred fold is the cost for my anger and pain—“ Clear water starts rolling down his cheeks and he grips the book harder. I don’t know what to do. He’s too in to it that I can’t get him to stop.

“Marc?” I waver. I reach out to touch him, but his head snaps towards me like a snake and the look in his eyes chills me to the bone.

He ignores me and continues anyway.

“—Thee shall be blinded by the fear. Blinded by my pain. Blinded by me. Cursed by me.”

Every word that leaves his lips is a hiss and he grits his teeth harder, glaring at the ashes in his hand. Showing no remorse, he drops the remains of the paper into the mixture and watches it sink and disappear into the liquid.

Like a coin flipping, his expression changes and he drops the book face down onto the floor, astounded at what he’s just done. He looks at the remaining ashes in his palm and he flinches off the stool rubbing them off him, his breath hitched and panicked. Tears keep rolling down his cheeks as he rubs his hand raw, making his pale skin inflamed and red.

I rush over to him and grab onto his wrists, pulling his hands apart. “Marc, look at me.” Snivelling, he looks up at me, his cheeks glistening and lip trembling. “I am so sorry. I am. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

“Sorry,” he chokes.

I shake my head. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do that,” I murmur.

I hated seeing him like that. The amount of anger and hurt in his eyes made every part of me ache. I wanted to do something, I really did. I just didn’t know what.

Once he’s calmed down, he collapses back onto the stool. “No it’s fine. I needed to get that off my chest anyway,” he says, rubbing his eyes.

This Kate person clearly pissed him off at some point. I don’t want to dig too deep though. His past seems pretty fucked up and I don’t want to get mixed into things like that when I still barely even know him.

I just don’t want to see him like that ever again.

“We need to boil that,” I mutter, nodding at the pot. Just change the subject and hope it goes away. I hold my hand out for him, and he nods and takes it, picking up the cauldron with him and following me into the kitchen.

I guess I really don’t know as much about Marc as I thought.

 

* * *

 

We’re sitting on the rug in my kitchen, watching the fire flicker below the cauldron as it boils away the curse we just made. Even though I told him that boiling it would stop the curse from working, he still hasn’t said a word. I even tried to cheer him up by telling him that you have to let the mixture rot for a few days so everything smells like vinegar and gone-off milk for the rest of the week. But he said nothing. He didn’t even crack a smile.

I’ve asked if he’s alright and he said he’s fine (bullshit), but I won’t pry. He’s too reserved to pester him and I don’t think this is the right time to ask him about it. I suppose once we trust each other enough, he’ll tell me. Until then, I just want to make sure he’s alright.

Marc’s wrapped up in a blanket beside me (he said he was cold), watching the orange flame curl around the black clay with blank eyes. There’s no emotion in them at all, just the reflection of the fire. I can’t read him.

I’m beginning to worry about him. He’s said hardly anything to me and I honestly feel like absolute shit for getting him to do that. I should have seen whilst he was reading the incantation that this was a bad idea. But I didn’t stop him.

I can’t look at him like this.

“Marc,” I begin cautiously, leaning into him slightly. Our shoulders touch and he turns his head to face me. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

What a stupid question to ask. I’ve asked him that about five times already, and every single fucking time he’s denied any kind of sadness swirling around in that seriously messed up head of his.

Marc’s eyes start to water again and he grabs me, pulling me into him and just cries into the crook of my neck. I’m a little shocked, but I still hold him close. He’s my friend and friends help each other.

Hot tears roll onto my skin and I hold him tighter, running my hands over his back and whispering what I hope is soothing sounds into his hair. “You’re going to be alright,” I soothe. “Everything will be alright.”

“I know,” he chokes. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

My heart twinges. How can he say something like that? He’s not alone. How can someone as kind and caring as him _ever_ be alone?

“I won’t let you be alone,” I say firmly, holding him closer.

That’s probably a bad idea. My heart’s beating so fast I think it may jump out of my chest. I hope he can’t feel it. I can’t feel his. He’s wrapped the blanket so many times around himself that at one point I think he’s lost both of his arms. Then I remember that they’re around my neck.

What have I done?

 

* * *

 

Marc fell asleep shortly after I managed to calm him down. He asked if he could stay in the kitchen with the fire because it was warm whilst I took care of the shop.

I agreed.

When I came back to check up on him after I’d sorted out my first customer in days, he was fast asleep and the fire had turned to tiny glowing embers dancing between the blackened wood. He was shivering, so I got him another blanket and tucked it around him. Gumbie then decided that the kitchen was warm too, so he curled up beside Marc and fell asleep with him. It was quite a sight to see.

The shop’s beginning to emit a pale orange glow and the crystals are creating dim splashes of colour on the walls. Glancing out of the window, I notice it’s already sundown.

I should probably go wake him up.

Walking into the kitchen, I see he’s still lying in the exact same place I left him, fast asleep. The fire has completely burnt out and the smell of burning cinnamon fills the room. The vinegar must have been burnt away.

I crouch down beside his body and shake his shoulder slightly.

“Marc?” I whisper. I shake a little harder. “Marc, wake up.”

Groaning, he sits up, the spare blanket pooling at his waist and digs his palms into his eyes. Cowlicks have taken over his hair and sweat’s beading on his forehead. Maybe he has a fever. He looks awful. Gumbie perks up too, yawns and then waddles over to Marc to nuzzle his head into his arm slightly. He returns the favour by rubbing the little patch of fur between Gumbie’s eyes. With that, Gumbie waddles out of the kitchen and returns to the shop to spread out along the counter and bask in the sunset.

“You don’t look so good,” I chuckle, flattening out his askew hair and placing it back into its neat parting.

“Sorry,” he smiles, yawning slightly.

“For what?”

“Crying.”

I flick his nose and squint at him, attempting to look annoyed. However the whole ‘I’ve just woken up’ look is really getting to me.

Pouting slightly, he rubs his nose and giggles.

“Don’t apologise for that. Like you said, you needed to get it off your chest.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

Smiling a little, I shrug and then start helping him untangle himself from the cocoon of blankets he’s made.

Once he’s free, I walk him home for the first time.

Hand in hand, we dodge as many rabbit holes as we can whilst we cross the field of death, him following in my footsteps as I attempt to navigate. It’s definitely easier to stay upright when you’ve got two pairs of eyes.

He doesn’t let go of my hand until the centre of Trost begins to draw nearer and the smell of alcohol becomes stronger. It always does around this time.

We walk in silence, smiling at one another occasionally and brushing skin, but that’s all. It’s not an awkward silence though; we’re perfectly comfortable in it.

When the walls of the castle begin to loom ahead of us goosebumps start appearing on my arms. I’ve never been this close to the castle before and it’s fucking terrifying. The walls that circle it only seem to get taller the closer we get to them. I can’t imagine being trapped inside there all day. I don’t want to know how Marc feels when he’s in there. And I thought being trapped in Trost was bad.

The walls loom above us like stone giants and we run in the shadows they’ve created around the outskirts of the castle, diving into a nearby bush every now and then as the clatter of a guard’s armour becomes audible.

Then Marc stops walking and crouches down to expose a small, but easily accessible hole in the wall. “This is it,” he whispers.

“You have to fit through _that_ every day?” I marvel.

“Mhm.”

The opening is so small, I’d be surprised if _I_ could even fit through it, let alone Marc.

Pale orange brightens up his skin and reflects over his eyes which are glazed over again. Although something tells me they’ve been like that for a while now.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Marc?” I ask.

He simply smiles and nods. “I will be,” he reassures. Somehow, I doubt him.

Waving goodbye, he lies down and miraculously slides through the crack.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I hear him whisper from the other side.

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

 

Two long, exhausting and quite frankly _terrifying_ weeks have now passed since the day Marc and I met.

He has now mastered curses—although he still hasn’t explained the whole ‘Kate’ thing to me. He knows how to cast a protective circle and has cast one in his room at the castle. Apparently Levi wasn’t too happy about that. According to Marc he “walked into the room, screamed and stormed out with a literal cloud of thunder over his head”. I’m not sorry at all. Love potions, however, will continue to be his downfall – he keeps putting poison in them.

Oh no. It’s not just wolf’s bane anymore. It’s aconite, ergot, azalea and opium poppy now. But he stays away from the belladonna (I wonder why?).

It’s like an obsession – he _always_ fucks up the love potions.

He has the instructions _right in front of him_ , yet he still feels the need to add in poison.

I really don’t understand him sometimes. But yet here he is _miraculously_ still alive, attempting to set up a new crystal display from the new supplies Hanji kindly delivered to us today.

He’s making a mess of that too.

Hanji and I are sat behind the counter watching his every move and I’m pretty sure that she’s fallen head over heels in love with him. Maybe those crappy love potions did work after all.

Nudging me, she snickers as Marc drops yet another crystal. “He’s good looking,” she giggles like a lovesick teenager.

“You can’t be serious,” I deadpan.

This is ridiculous. We’ve been doing this for goodness knows how long and I just _really_ want to get over there and help Marc out, because he’s putting everything in the wrong place and it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies. However, each time I’ve tried to get out of discussing Marc’s physique with Hanji, she’s pulled me back down again, explaining how Marc needs to figure out “how badly he’s fucking up” on his own.

I twitch in my seat as he places a quartz towards the back of the shelf.

Quartz’s go at the front.

_How many times do I need to tell him?_

“He’s your type isn’t he?” Hanji asks.

I visibly freeze and glare at her.

 _Oh_. I see now. This is for _me_.

I could quite happily elbow her right now.

“Hanji, _no_ ,” I scowl, gritting my teeth and praying to whatever’s up there that Marc can’t hear us.

“Hanji, _yes_ ,” she sniggers. I think my eyes hurt from rolling them too much today.

Ignoring her whines, I get out of my seat to go help Marc. He looks like a lost puppy.

I stand in front of him and start moving the crystals he’s placed, dictating instructions to him as I do so. “Quartz’s at the front, amethysts at the back, jasper in the middle and agate to the side, depending on the colour. Got it?” I look back at him to see a grin spreading across his face. “What?” I frown.

He bursts out laughing.

 _“What?”_ I growl.

“You’re so fussy,” he chuckles, slamming his hand over his mouth to try and stop his continuous giggles.

“Just like his mother!” Hanji hoots.

A silence breaks over the shop. Marc’s giggles cease, Hanji’s cheerful mood drops and only the sound of the spine chilling wind can be heard.

I haven’t spoken to my mother for two weeks.

“Have you heard anything from her?” I ask.

Solemnly, Hanji shakes her head and sighs, utterly defeated. "I'm afraid not, Jeanny. All I know is that she's alive and in Jinae."

"Hanji you _live_ in Jinae. How could you _not_ have heard from her?" I snap.

I've been getting more worried about her recently. I haven't heard anything from her in such a long time that the anxiety just keeps getting worse. Although I haven't thought about it much since I've been distracted, now that Hanji's mentioned it, the concern just sinks in further, burying a hole in me the longer it's left.

"Jean, I haven’t heard anything because I've been helping the people in Karanese. The plague's beginning to spread there," Hanji frowns.

That makes no sense.

I turn to see Marc staring at the floor, rubbing the nape of his neck. He only does that when he's nervous.

"But that's so far away from Jinae," I mumble, joining Marc in staring at the floorboards.

"I know," Hanji says.

Karanese is an old harbour two towns away from Jinae. They're finally thriving due to a recent peak in fish numbers, but this plague will just bring them back down to the same level of poverty as the rest of us. That also means less food for the rest of the kingdom, as Karanese is where we trade.

If there's no one to trade because they've all got the plague, then the kingdom will starve – not that we aren't already.

Now I'm more convinced than ever that this is more than just a disease. It's systematic. It knows what it's doing.

Someone's controlling it. We just don't know who.

* * *

 

Once Hanji’s reassured me several times that my mother will be fine, she goes, leaving Marc and I with the rest of the day to fill.

We decide to slump behind one of the bookcases in the shop drearily and rest our heads against the wood, minds drifting. Everything feels numb and I can almost feel my body slipping away from me. Everything is so quiet now. I haven’t heard the forest for days. Marc’s noticed it too. Even he could hear the howls that used to tumble out of the dark and the familiar rusting of leaves that constantly kept us on edge. Now everything’s silent and we have bigger problems on our hands.

Gumbie waddles over to the lump the two of us have become and climbs into Marc’s crossed legs, shielding himself from the noticeable cold drifting in. We stay like that for a while, completely silent and I’m almost convinced that Marc’s fallen asleep until out of nowhere he says, “Levi’s on our side.”

My head leaves its resting place and I knit my eyebrows together, turning towards him. Seemingly asleep, Marc keeps his eyes shut and hums to himself quietly.

“He has scars from the Caedem,” he drones. Gumbie shivers in Marc’s lap as the final words leaves him.

Is he asleep or just tired? I honestly can’t tell.

Guardedly, I poke his arm, hoping for a response from him. When he doesn’t stir, I do it again.

“Marc, are you awake?” I ask.

Soft brown eyes soon flicker open and scowl at me. “Yes, I’m awake,” he sighs.

“You had your eyes closed.”

“I was resting them.” He starts twiddling Gumbie’s fur between his fingers and looks up at me again. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Sort of,” I mumble.

Gently, he laughs. “Levi’s not a member of the Caedem. He has scars on his back as a punishment for when he left. They’re pretty awful and I do believe him.”

“But yet you still wear the necklace I gave you.”

His shoulders tense and his arm drops from where he was running his finger along Gumbie’s spine. “I-it protects me from other things than Levi, doesn’t it?” he asks. I nod. “Th-that’s why.”

“Smart,” I muse.

Returning to fondling over my cat again, he inhales a shallow breath and he relaxes somewhat. “But he did say something you may want to hear.”

I perk up and focus all my attention on him – everything else become unimportant. If it’s from Levi’s mouth, I want to hear it.

“He said that the only way you can kill a vampire now is by silver. They’re evolving and becoming immune to previous forms of weaponry against them such as stakes and holy water. They just don’t work anymore,” he says.

I had a feeling this would happen.

Vampires are constantly evolving and taking back their territory in the forest. They used to only leave the confinements of the shadows at nightfall as the sunlight would burn their skin and turn them into dust. Only a few years later, daylight attacks became frequent and no one knows why. They often still happen. No one knows how the vampires are maturing, but now that they’ve become immune to the effects of the only two items I actually own that I can use against them, I have a problem. A huge fucking problem.

“Silver is the only way to kill them?” I ask, just for reassurance.

“Yes.”

“Marc, what day is it?”

“Friday.” I know he’s frowning at me, I can feel it.

It’s the Waxing Gibbous moon tonight. That means…

I shoot upwards and over to the counter, peering into the jar of coins hiding on the shelf behind it.

I only have thirty six pounds, seventeen marks and a threepence. That’s not going to get me what I need, but I suppose I’m pretty persuasive.

Leaving the threepence in the jar for food, I empty the rest of the contents into a pouch and tie it securely to my belt. Marc’s left the floor now and is standing behind me with his arms folded and a bewildered look in his eyes.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asks.

“We’re going out,” I smile gleefully.

Worry creeps over him in an instant and his arms fall to his sides, backing away from me slowly. “Where are you taking me, Jean?” he wavers.

“If I tell you now, you won’t let me take you.”

“That _really_ doesn’t help,” he laughs nervously.

I storm over to him and grab his wrist, naturally followed by pathetic protests. Calling out a goodbye to Gumbie, I drag my whining apprentice out the back door.

* * *

 

“You’re mad,” Marc repeats for the fiftieth time as we stand in front of the Forest of Tall Trees.

We took one step out of the backdoor and that was the first thing he said. It’s the only thing he’s been saying since.

“Marc, you need to trust me. I’ve done this before,” I hush, trying to calm him down.

“You’re taking me into _the Forest of Tall Trees_. If we go in there we’ll be killed. You’re the one who’s always telling me what awful things live in there, right?” he huffs, walking manically in circles and waving his arms around.

I think the prince’s actions have rubbed off on him.

“Marc, I do this every month and not once have I been killed. See?” I gesture to myself, stating the obvious, but in Marc’s delirious state, I think it’s necessary. “Still alive.”

He stops meandering like a lunatic and provides me with a fake laugh. Sassy shit.

Sighing, I place my hands on his shoulders and give him my most sincere expression. “Marc, please trust me. On the path that we’re taking and where we’re going, nothing is going to hurt you. I promise on my life.” He seems to ease down once I say that. His breathing slows and I can’t feel his arms quivering any longer. Now to take the piss: “Well it would be on my life because if that promise is broken then we both die.” He only laughs at me. Thank fuck for that – I don’t have to deal with another Marc moment.

I like that: ‘Marc moment’. Let’s hope I don’t have to use it again.

“So we’re not going to die?” he chuckles as I grab his wrist again and start pulling him towards the trees.

“I hope not,” I mumble under my breath as we pass through the threshold of twisted branches and darkening shadow and into the Forest of Tall Trees.

* * *

 

Fuck knows how long we’ve been walking for. This forest seems to stretch on forever and we’re lost in the very midst of it, although, I won’t tell Marc that. My dignity is on the line here.

The silence is practically screaming at us as we trek through the undergrowth, snapping twigs beneath our feet that seem to echo through the trees. Heavy, quivered breathing is constantly on the back of my neck as Marc tries to stay as close to me as possible in the thickening black. Neither of us can see a thing. Unfortunately, I can’t use my powers to light the way. As I found recently, my powers have limits. If I’m too weak, then I can’t use them. Right now, I’m too tired and the thick mist that loiters around the trees here keeps getting caught in my throat, making my breath heave and my steps slip. I’m not in the right state physically or mentally to use them in this exact moment, so I’m going to have to rely on my amazing sense of navigation… if I had one.

I have absolutely no idea where we are. But the thing is, in order to find what I’m looking for, we need to get lost.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Marc pants as he tumbles over the dishevelled ground. The mist surrounding us condenses and it snakes into my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. I have to stop for a moment.

Leaning on a nearby tree trunk, I slide to the ground and Marc joins me, panting and gasping for breath. I think the mist is getting to him.

“Are we lost?” he asks.

Wearily, I nod.                                                                      

He sighs and holds his head in his hands, mumbling to himself. I’m too far gone to hear him.

“It’s alright,” I breathe. “We need to be lost. That’s how the In Between works.”

“What’s that?” He looks up at me again, cupping the nape of his neck. Anxious, I see.

“It’s what we’re looking for.” He shuffles closer, encouraging me to continue. At least down here the mist can’t reach us and I think I’m regaining my breath.

Something rustles in the gloom above us and both our heads snap upwards to figure out the source of the noise. Despite our panicked searching, we see nothing.

I know things are out there, but they won’t find us. The best thing to do whilst you’re in the forest and being searched for is to stay low and surround yourself with the earth. It camouflages you and in this kind of light, it works even better. Plus, you escape the treacherous mist that hangs over your head like a cloud.

Marc clears his throat and I remember where I am again.

“Jean, what’s the In Between?”

Sinking further into the tree trunk, I make myself comfortable. We could be here for a while. “The In Between is the magical market. It’s in a different dimension to this one, so it’s quite hard to find, also, it only appears during the Waxing Gibbous moon. To find it, you need to get lost in a dark place. This is the darkest place I know and it usually works. We just need to wait.”

“Wait for what?” Marc asks.

I peer behind him as something catches my eye and grin.

“That.”

Marc follows my line of sight and his eyes widen at the sight before him.

A doorway carved carefully with flowers, ancient patterns and markings has appeared on the trunk of a colossal tree not too far away from us. Each swirl and line is softly glowing a pale blue light that catches in Marc’s ever widening eyes and exposes the undergrowth around us in a full and radiant luminosity. It towers over us gloriously, shining down on us and calling us towards it with a soft, melodic hum.

This is the door to the In Between.

Heaving both myself and Marc upwards, we approach the doorway. Before either of us can reach out to touch it, it swings open, revealing tunnel dimly lit by torches into nowhere.

With a glance, we go in and the door slams shut behind us.

We start walking straight away. There’s no time to dawdle.

Every step we take booms throughout the stone passageway as we venture deeper into the other world. Marc’s given up on asking questions by this point and just goes along with it. He’s just as confused as I was when I first came here with my mother. It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever had to experience.

“Oh, that reminds me,” I begin, glancing back at Marc trailing closely behind me, “there are some things I should mention about the In Between.”

“Such as?”

“Whatever you do, don’t get freaked out.” He nods. “You will see all sorts of creatures dwelling there, including vampires.” Marc’s step quickens so he’s walking beside me and doesn’t lose my gaze. “They won’t harm you,” I continue. “That’s one of the rules of the In Between: you can’t kill anyone. If you do, you’ll be banned. Trust me _no one_ wants to get banned. The In Between is the very heart of a magical being’s life and half of us would be dead if it wasn’t for this place. This is where anyone and any _thing_ can buy whatever the fuck they want, even things that may be used to cause others harm. That’s another rule of the In Between: you can buy and sell whatever you please. The whole point of the In Between is to stay neutral. Anything goes. So I can guarantee you’ll be seeing members of Caedem, orcs and _plenty_ of other fuckers.”

“But why are _we_ going?” Marc asks. Since that’s his first question, I’ll assume he understands the rest of what I just said.

“Weapons.”

 _“Weapons?”_   Marc repeats, his voice squeaking slightly.

“Mhm. You said that the only way to kill a vampire is silver, right?”

“Right,” he nods. I only have to wait a moment until he catches on and his face drops. “We’re going vampire hunting soon, aren’t we?” he asks dryly.

“Correct.”

Sighing, he walks a little faster so he’s ahead of me. He’s scratching his neck again. Then he stops and turns to face me. Pausing in front of him, I wait for him to speak.

A wide grin spreads across his face – which takes me by surprise – and he places his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “If I die during the time that I spend with you, I will haunt you until you go insane,” he laughs.

Thank fuck for that. No more Marc moments. I’m glad he’s finally beginning to realise how dangerous this (unpaid) job is.

“So you’re up for it, then?” I grin.

“Of course I am.”

I take a step back from him and I hold out my hand. “Partners?”

He nods, smiling like an idiot and grips his hand over mine. “Partners.”

I embrace him briefly, then let go and we continue walking down the tunnel with his arm hooked around my neck.

* * *

 

When we finally arrive at the end of the tunnel, we’re face with a solid bronze gateway surpassing above us, guarded by a figure cloaked in black, holding a pretty intimidating axe across his chest. He reminds me of the grim reaper – always has – but he’s not as… deadly. He’s just there to frighten people – and it works.

“Who are you and what is your business here?” he booms.

I take a step forwards and clear my throat, not letting on that this… _thing_ is pretty fucking terrifying and I _hate_ talking to it each time I come here. I’m surprised he doesn’t remember me.

“My name is Jean Kirschtein, I’m the Trost Witch’s son, and this is my apprentice, Marc. We’re here to buy weapons, armour and other supplies for my shop.”

I added on the last bit just to look professional.

The figure studies me for a moment… I think. I can’t see his face under the hood, but I have the feeling he is.

Then he nods and the gate opens, revealing the marketplace hidden behind it. We go in and become instantly submersed in the weirdness that surrounds this place. I don’t think I’ll ever get used it and by the looks of things, I don’t think Marc ever will. His mouth his hanging agape as he stares at the view before us.

The In Between dwells inside an old cave with damp, sand coloured walls and torches nailed to every crack and corner. The ceiling lies so high up above us that it is hidden by the shadows created by the dim light of the place. Tents, marquees and small shops line the cave floor, selling all sorts of oddities that you’d _never_ find in our world. Objects such as dried animals, rare crystals, handcrafted materials, weapons, food, clothes – a magical being’s every day needs. Everything you could ever dream of will probably be sold s _omewhere_ here.

The dull ring of metal and bells in complex sequences and the sound of drums being beaten in tune to chants, all in another tongue that makes your tongue click, can be heard over the mumbles and soft bellows of the customers. It sends shivers down my spine.

Usually, you’d expect a place such as this to come lingering with a putrid smell, due to all the strange creatures that reside here, but that’s not the case at all. The food here is always good, hearty and smells incredible. Herbs, spices and freshly cooked meats are around every corner, giving the market a sweet smell that makes you feel warm and at home. Or, at least that’s how I feel whenever I come here. Since I’m not the only ‘abnormal’ thing here, I feel like I belong.

Orcs, vampires, spirits, goblins, faeries, nymphs… they’re all here, yet I know that not a single one will lay a finger on either of us. They’re just going about their daily business. Vampires are queuing up outside a blood bank to get their fill, orcs are bargaining with blacksmiths and there are even creatures here that _I’ve_ never even seen before.

A tall, built being with two heads that seem to be wrapped with skin and no eyes walks past us and one of its heads bears its teeth at Marc, growling lowly. A hand slips into mine and holds on tightly as the monster continues to walk past us and towards a stall selling dried rats. Charming.

"So this is the In Between?" Marc asks.

"Yes."

“… It’s creepy.”

With Marc's hand still clutching mine, we start walking.

He stays close to me, our shoulders just touching as we pass the numerous stalls that he can't help but stare at as we pass, taking in the sights, smells and horrified looks from the customers and shop owners, because oh no I’ve brought a _human_ into the In Between that isn’t food!

Yes, I can hear all of them criticising me. He’s a human, so what? Technically, so am I. I’m holding his hand, so what? If that _thing_ hadn’t growled at him then he’d be fine. I honestly don’t give a shit about what they think of me. I’ve got a reputation anyway; this shouldn’t do it any harm.

Whilst we’re walking and being gawked at, Marc begins to relax and lets go of my hand, letting it fall to my side, then he stops in front of one shop being owned by a boggart, a small green creature, descended from goblins, with a pointed nose and plump, protruding belly and jagged teeth.

Completely ignoring the boggart's slating glare, Marc becomes intrigued by one of the items for sale.

A glowing, round, glass ball tied to a piece of string is dangling down from the frame of the stall, but it's what's inside it that Marc's fascinated by. As I look a little closer, I realise that it's a faerie.

She looks miserable. Her clear wings droop by her sides and her tiny dress barely fits her anymore as she's slowly wasting away. Knotted blonde hair clumps around her face and she's covered in dirt. She's trapped with almost no air to breathe and I don't think the boggart's given her anything to eat either.

A faerie's glow is usually brighter than this, but she's so malnourished, there's barely any light surrounding her.

"Is that a..." Marc whispers.

"Faerie."

"She's beautiful," he smiles. By the looks of things, she’s heard him and she places her tiny hand against the glass, smiling at him with big blue eyes. Marc's smile widens and ghosts his finger over her hand, giggling slightly.

"She's too expensive for you," the boggart sneers. I'd almost forgotten about him.

I turn towards him with a thundering glare and slam my hands down on the wood of the countertop. "She's not a pet, boggart," I hiss. "You can't keep her trapped in there, she'll die."

"I'm not selling her as a pet, witch. I'm selling her as an ornament. Do you have any idea how rare faeries are?" He leans towards me, snarling and a rotten smell leaks from his mouth, making my eyes water.

"All the more reason to let her go."

The boggart's black eyes bore into mine and I can feel my nails raking along the wood. I've had my fair share of experiences with boggarts, but this one is by far the worst. They're known for being malicious tradesmen and now I can see why.

“I can’t. I have a buyer on his way here and she’s reserved just for him. If you can beat his price—“ He stares me down, judging my worn out and dirt smeared clothes, tiny figure and thin, bony limbs. I’m seething. I fucking _hate_ boggarts. “—which I don’t think you will – she’s all yours.”

"How much are you selling her for?"

He takes a moment for my question to sink in and I watch in aggravation as his face contorts into some kind of held back hysterical fit. The boggart explodes into laughter, leaning back into his chair and rubbing his belly from laughing too hard. I nod at Marc and he takes the glass ball down, protecting the faerie inside by shielding his hand over her and keeping her close to his chest. The boggart laughs harder. "Don't mock me, boggart, you'll regret it," I say as calmly as I can.

No one, I repeat, _no one_ , talks down to me. Ever.

"Oh, please," he chuckles, "I've heard of you, Kirschtein, and your shitty little powers. You have nothing against me."

My fingers start tingling.

"Then enlighten me. What can I do?"

"You create light. Nothing special," he huffs.

I look at Marc and nod towards the countertop. He realises that I'm up to something and puts the faerie down.

Out of the boggart's view, I clasp my hands together and at the slightest touch of my skin, they're already getting warmer. The boggart frowns at me, then at Marc and lastly at the faerie. When he turns his attention back to me, I'm holding a ball of light in my palm.

"Wrong," I hiss.

Marc takes a step back and just as the boggart realises what I'm doing, I launch the orb towards the countertop in blind fury.

Wood explodes everywhere and scatters along the floor and the boggart is sent flying backwards and into the rest of his stock, completely unharmed. The glass ball shatters as it collides with a piece of wood and the faerie inside tumbles downwards off the counter. She's too weak to fly. In a flash, Marc catapults forwards, catching her in his hand, breathing a sigh of relief. Clattering metal and splintering wood produce stunned glances being shot our way and gasps of disbelief and “never the matter, it’s just the witch boy again”. A few gapes and gawks here and there, but they soon return to their business. Occurrences like this are normal here. Like I said: anything goes.

The boggart staggers upwards and gnashes his teeth as Marc mounts the faerie on his shoulder, gleaming at her. They make quite the pair. "You'll be banned for this, Kirschtein," he growls.

"No I won't. I didn't kill you, did I?" I shrug. Turning away, I decide to give the boggart one final piece of my mind: “Don’t underestimate me again, boggart. I’m more powerful than you think.”

The boggart starts yelling at us, but it just goes in one ear and out the other as we turn away and start walking towards the real reason we came here.

* * *

 

The faerie’s looking pretty happy on Marc’s shoulder and her glow is already returning as she’s finally breathing some real air. She’s grinning and swinging her legs like an excited child as we carry on walking through the market. Marc’s given up on staring now. I think he’s getting used to it.

“Why did you do that?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Help her.”

I shrug. “Seemed like the right thing to do. Plus, if I hadn’t you would have nagged me into doing it anyway.”

“Ah, yes. I would have given you the ‘good morals’ speech,” he laughs.

I smile at the faerie who winks at me, blushing slightly. I think I like her.

“Have you asked what her name is yet?” I ask.

Marc shakes his head.

“Ask her.”

So he does.

Grinning, the faerie shuffles along his shoulder and leans towards his ear. It’s the only way to be able to hear a faerie. Their voices are so tiny, that even if they shout, you’ll only hear it as a mere whisper.

Marc smiles, thanking her and she shuffles back to her original perch. “Her name’s Christa,” he chuckles.

Christa. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

We’re drawing closer to the shop I need. I can tell since the smell of heated coals and soot is replacing the smell of food and it gets caught in my lungs, causing me to choke. The ground below us is beginning to turn from sand to dust the further we walk and crash of metal against metal keeps getting louder. Then I see it. A small open space at the end of an alleyway, secluded in the dark with a raging fire as its only light source with wooden benches, crafting tables, gleaming swords and assorted pieces of armour surrounding it.

This is Ymir’s blacksmiths.

I see her in the glow of the fire, hammering into a freshly manufactured plackart.  Orange shines off her headpiece made of twisted and intertwined golden feathers, blinding me as she crafts the white hot sheath in the flames. A golden buckle hangs around her neck, keeping her flowing red cape in place that seems to flutter in the heat. Other precious metals adorn her limbs, only leaving free her chest which is covered by a rich, blood red tunic. Sweat’s beading on her forehead and she crashes the hammer into the metal again, shaping it into a functional piece of armour. She doesn’t even notice us getting closer.

“Ymir,” I call, making our presence known.

The warmth of the fire in front of us surges throughout me, and makes me realise how much I really am going to dread going back to freezing cold Trost. Then I’m met by Ymir’s icy glare and I change my mind.

“What do you want?” she grumbles, scanning her eyes over Marc and Christa and threateningly pointing her hammer at me.

“Weapons,” I announce. She frowns for a moment, allowing what I said to register, then laughs at me.

“Jean, the last time you came in here asking for weapons you…” Her giggles stop her in her tracks and I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. I will _never_ speak of that.

Quizzically, Marc frowns at me, but I just shake my head. He must never know the stupid things I used to do.

All I’ll say is that it’s probably not a good idea to come to the In Between when you’re completely plastered. I couldn’t even tell the difference between an orc and a goblin.

Ymir’s _still_ fucking giggling at me.

I know that earlier I blew up the boggart’s shop because he laughed at me, but I’m not going to do that to Ymir. I know better than to piss off a god.

“Ymir, I’m being serious. We’ve got a bad case of monsters coming out of the forest and I don’t think anyone else has the guts to take care of it, so help me out here.” Begging is not my style at all, but as much as I hate to admit it, Ymir’s the only blacksmith here I trust. She’s also the best.

Her laughing ceases and her face falls. Sighing, she drops her hammer onto the work bench and shifts aside the unfinished plackart.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mumbles to herself. “Fine, I’ll help you.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and we walk a little further into Ymir’s domain.

“Wait,” she commands and we freeze. She lifts her hammer again and jabs it at Marc and Christa. “Who’re they?”

I turn slightly and place my hand on Marc’s unoccupied shoulder. “This is my apprentice, Marc and his new friend, Christa.”

Frowning, Ymir walks over to us and begins inspecting Christa. Her face softens as Christa smiles at her with a slight wave. “She’s pretty,” Ymir nods, trying to hold back a smile. Then she turns to Marc and wraps her hand around his wrist, her eyes burning into him. Clenching harder, he flinches slightly. “Stay still,” she demands. Glancing to me with a worried look in his eye, I nod reassuringly. Air rushes into him and he faces her again, staring into her piercing gold eyes.

I know exactly what Ymir’s doing to him. She did this to me the first time I came here.

She’s looking into his soul to decide if he’s dangerous or not.

He isn’t, but she doesn’t know that.

Ymir’s a Valkyrie, a kind of war goddess. She’s the one who gets to decide who lives and dies in battle and ferries their souls to either heaven or hell. The ones who go to hell, she feeds on their flesh then takes their tortured soul to the underworld. It’s not a nice job, but someone has to do it.

Now she’s… retired in some sorts and dedicates the rest of her life to making good quality weaponry. It only makes sense to go to a war goddess when you need weapons, right?

Ymir gasps and throws Marc’s arm away from her. Shrinking away from him, she recoils her hand and stares at him with giant, terrified eyes. Immense, albescent wings shoot out from underneath her cape and spread out vastly across the space. Her feathers quiver at whatever she saw in Marc’s soul and they seem to nod up and down slightly to match her freaked breathing.

I’ve never seen her wings before. She only brings them out in defence.

Marc almost stumbles backwards at the sight, bumping into my arm and I hold him upright. I wasn’t expecting that either.

She glances at me slightly, keeping Marc in her sight. “You’re _his_ apprentice?” she spits, her feathers ruffling.

“Yes,” Marc says, shaking in my hold.

Her wings jolt and she snaps her head to look at him again. A shaken breath quivers out of her lips. “Are you sure you want to take that path? What about your friend’s warnings?” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off him.

What warnings? I know being my apprentice is dangerous, but Marc understands that. I know he does.

“He’s not dangerous,” Marc smiles, placing his hand on my shoulder and I see Christa nod out of the corner of my eye. Placing my hand over his, I squeeze his fingers slightly in thanks.

Ymir’s lips purse and she takes on a slightly more amused tone. “Oh, I see.”

Something shifts in my gut, but soon disappears and Marc lets go of me, returning to smile at the jolly little glow perched on his shoulder.

Once we’ve all relaxed, Ymir folds in her wings back under her cape. Returning to her work bench, she lifts her hammer again and the flame of the fire burns in her eyes. She’s incredibly passionate about her job, and it shows. “What do you need?” she grins.

Thank fuck she dropped that last subject. I decide to continue with her current topic before she changes her mind.

“Armour. But not the kind you usually make,” I begin. “We need something that we can move around in. We also need weapons made of silver.”

 _“Silver?”_ Ymir repeats. “Are you sure you have the money for that, Jean?”

Untying the pouch from my belt, I begin shuffling inside it for my coins. Once I’ve found them, I produce the money to her. “I have thirty six pounds and seventeen marks. What will that get me?”

Huffing, she tuts and shakes her head at the jumble of coins in my hand. “Two body plates and a sword, but that’s it,” she sighs.

“You can’t be serious. This is all I have.”

I’m panicking. She’s put her prices up and I only have enough to cover one of us. This is ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, Jean, but you just don’t have enough. Try the blacksmith’s by the gate; they might be slightly cheaper than me,” she exhales.

Nodding, I hold onto Marc’s wrist and we turn to leave, but he’s not budging. I tug on his arm because I’m so fucking embarrassed that I _just want to leave_ , but he won’t move.

Wrestling out of my grip, he turns back to Ymir. “I’ll pay for the rest of the armour,” he states.

Oh no.

I try and drag him out of the shop to save my pride, but Marc strides over to her and stares her right in the eyes. "You know who I am, don't you. You know I can pay for it," he says slowly, exaggerating every syllable.

Is he? Is he actually going to _steal_ from the prince? I think I’m beginning to like Marc more and more every day.

She scoffs, rolling her tongue across her teeth, then nods. "Fine. I'll just come and collect the money from you when it suits me."

"Deal."

The two of them shake hands and Ymir mumbles something into Marc's ear. To whatever she said, he nods.

"I think we've come to an agreement," she states, folding her arms.

My face burns read as once again I'm saved by my apprentice and I hand over my money into Ymir's waiting hand.

She jingles the money in her palm and grins. "Now we've got that sorted, let's get on to sorting you boys out with some protection."

Christa seems to have regained her strength and stands up on Marc's shoulder, cheering (I think) and waving her arms in the air. I can't help but laugh at her.

“Let me think,” Ymir hums to herself. “Marc, which weapon can you handle the best?”

Jumping out of his daydream, he stands to full attention. “I’m more of an archer, I suppose.”

I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that? That’s a question I should have asked him ages ago.

“Good choice,” she nods. “Jean, you’re a swordsman, I know that already… It’s just the armour I’m concerned about.” She leans onto the workbench and sighs, screwing her face up in thought. “I suppose my assistant could so some leather armour for you. It won’t be as strong as the metal, but easier to move around in. Plus, it’s cheaper as it’s only meant for your upper body.”

Marc and I instantly nod frantically to one another. Cheaper is better and if it’s from Ymir, it’s still going to be high quality.

With a nod, Ymir brings herself to her full height and breathes in. “Mikasa!” she shouts.

What?

Hurried footsteps echo behind me and gradually get closer, louder, stronger.

This can’t be right. Mikasa. As in Mikasa Ackerman? Eren’s sister? The girl that broke my heart too many times to count as a teenager? The Mikasa who’s supposed to be in Jinae on the Garrison force? She can’t be here. She doesn’t even know this place exists.

“What?” a voice that I’ve heard too many times to forget asks. I’m too scared to turn around.

“Fit the tall one with some leather armour. I already know the other’s size,” Ymir orders.

The footsteps start again and I hold my breath. If it’s _her_ … what do I do?

They pause in front of me and I keep my eyes glued to the floor. I can’t bear to look up.

“Jean?” she breathes and I’m done for.

Reluctantly, I look up and just as I expected, there she is. The epitome of beauty, Mikasa Ackerman.

Her hair’s shorter than I remember, but it’s still the same jet black with shines of silver. Grey eyes that are set into her perfectly clear, round face stare back at me, and sweet plump lips that any man would have fantasies of kissing are now chapped and pulled tight. The same red scarf is wrapped around her neck like it always is, probably to remember her brother. The same brother that has no idea that she’s not really in Jinae.

“What are you doing here?” I snarl. I’m fucking furious. “Why aren’t you in Jinae?”

For _two years_ I’ve had to deal with Eren complaining about how much he misses his sister. For _two years_ I’ve had to console him when he doesn’t get letters from her. For _two years_ the others and I have been the only ones there to support him and all this time she was _lying to him_ , her own brother, about her where she’s been all this time.

I’m fuming and I clench my fists. She’ll deck me if I tried, but _fuck_ I’m going to do something I’ll regret in a moment.

Mikasa opens her mouth to answer but is cut off by Ymir clearing her throat. We turn to face her. “I’ll fit Marc’s armour. I can see you two have some catching up to do.”

I think it’s a little more than that.

* * *

 

My blood’s boiling. I’m so furious with her I’m pretty sure my eyebrows have turned into a permanent knot.

We’ve been sitting on the other side of Ymir’s workshop for ages listening to Marc grunting as Ymir yanks his belts too tight and almost suffocates him with leather, whilst Christa watches on in hysterics.

I don’t know what to say to Mikasa. She’s stayed utterly silent and she hasn’t moved.

Why won’t she say something?

“Why aren’t you in Jinae?” I finally ask.

Smoky eyes look up from the floor as I grab her attention and her lips turn into a tight line as she musters up an excuse.

It had better be a good one.

“I work for Ymir now,” she says coldly.

“I gathered that one, Mikasa.”

I don’t think she approves of my pissed off tone, so she returns to staring at the floor and twiddling her thumbs.

I’m lost for words. Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she tell her brother? How does she even know about this place? There are so many questions that I know she won’t answer. In a way, I wish Eren was here so he could be pissed off with her too.

What if he found out?

“You can’t tell Eren.”

It’s like she read my mind.

“Why not? I’m sure he’d love to know why you haven’t contacted him for two years,” I scoff.

Her eyes burn into me and she grits her teeth. “You can’t tell him. Ever.”

Blood rushes through me and I grab hold of her shoulders. “For fucks sake, Mikasa. Eren’s your brother. Why can’t you just tell me what happened?” I want to just shake her and hope to knock some sense into her. If she could see what Eren was like, then she wouldn’t be doing this. “Please, I’m begging you. Tell me what happened. I care about Eren too and I don’t want him not knowing where you are or if you’re even alive.”

Luckily for me, Mikasa doesn’t know what happened between Eren and me. If she did, then I have the feeling that I’d be on the floor, bleeding from the head.

“Jean, you can’t tell him,” she pleads, but I just squeeze her harder.

“Tell me why I can’t.”

“Because something happened to him that he can’t know about.”

I let go and she rubs the red marks I’ve left on her. Running a hand through my hair, I calm myself down and pinch the bridge of my nose. How do I do this?

“Mikasa, what happened to Eren? I might be able to help you.”

Opening my eyes, I see that she’s resting her head in her hands and trembling. She’s terrified.

“Mikasa?” I ask softly. Hesitantly, I reach out and stroke her skin. “Mikasa please tell me what happened.”

She looks up at me with glazed eyes and sighs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she mumbles. “I needed to protect him from himself, Jean. This was the only way I could do it.”

I think I know what she’s talking about.

“Eren shifted. Didn’t he?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, her eyes dilate and she grabs me. “How do you know about that?” she demands. Hitched breathing passes chapped lips and begins breaking at irregular intervals, quickening to an erratic speed that she can’t control.

Keeping her eyes level with mine, I hush softly and hold my hands to her cheeks. “Mikasa, Eren’s a shapeshifter. I’ve known ever since the day I met him. I can help him. But you need to tell me what happened and why you’re here.” Slowly, she stills and her breathing slows. “Do you understand?”

She nods.

I release my hands from her and I lean back, giving her my full attention.

There’s a long pause before Mikasa clears her throat and finally speaks.

“It happened two years ago. One night, Eren and I went out together and he got into a fight with another man. After being kicked in the mouth, he was bleeding so much that I thought he was going to pass out, but then he screamed and he…” She trails off, yet I nod to encourage her to continue. “He turned into a wolf and mauled the other man. He almost killed him.”

“Then what happened?” I ask.

“When he changed back, he broke down. He was screaming, crying and he went on a rampage, kicking and punching everything that got in his way. I couldn’t bear to see him like that, so I stole one of your books from your shop and—“

“Excuse me? You stole one of my books?” I frown.

“I gave it back, but by using that I found out about Valkyries and I summoned Ymir. She promised to erase Eren’s memory of what happened in return for me coming to work for her as payment.”

“And you agreed,” I hum to myself.

She nods. “I needed to protect him, Jean. I didn’t want to see him like that. That’s why you can’t tell him where I really am.”

That explains a lot.

A Valkyrie’s powers also include erasing a person’s memory in order for their passing to be easier. As Eren wasn’t technically dying, the ‘erasing’ part may not have been completely successful with him.

He’s been more agitated recently and he doesn’t sleep much. When I asked him about it, naturally I got a very clear “fuck off”, but I always knew there was something more to it.

When Armin investigated, he said that Eren had been having nightmares.

Clearly, these aren’t nightmares, but memories of what happened the night that he shifted.

I had always wondered why Eren had never shifted before as he’s so prone to getting into fights. Now that I know he has, I have to be more prepared than before for the next time he does. By the sounds of things… it’s not going to be pretty.

Sighing, I press my hand to my forehead and drag it down my face. “Mikasa, you should have just told me. I can help him control the shifting so he doesn’t have sudden outbursts like he did that night. Unfortunately, you must realise that eventually it’ll happen again and you can’t just get Ymir to erase his memory. It’s not fair on him.”

Pressing her hands together, she stares at me with hopeful eyes. “So you’ll help him when he does?”

Why am I doing this?

Without hesitation, I nod. “Yes. I promise.” 

“He’s done!” Ymir bellows and Mikasa and I turn around to see Marc bent over, panting and sweating like a pig. He’s in his usual oversized tunic and trousers, promised armour nowhere to be seen, but I think I’m a little more worried about his health right now.

“Ymir, what have you done to my apprentice?” I ask, striding over to him and helping him upright.

“She suffocated me,” Marc gasps, clinging to my arm.

Ymir ignores every word and stands over by Mikasa with Christa sitting happily on her shoulder. “Your armour and weapons will be at the shop by tomorrow. Marc, I’ll visit you at some point during the week to collect the rest of the payment, and as for you,” she coos, turning to Christa, “you’re staying here with me, aren’t you.”

“She is?” I frown.

“She is,” Marc nods. “Christa seems to have taken quite a liking to her.”

To that, Mikasa giggles slightly and puts her hand to her mouth to stop herself.

Well, if Christa’s happy with that, I’m happy with that. I suppose Ymir would probably take better care of her anyway, since she's always in the shop.

I suppose it makes sense.

Mikasa straightens and smiles at me. I think it’s the first time she ever has.

“You’re not coming with us, are you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I still have a debt to pay off.”

I want to tell Eren, I really do, but I keep my promises.

I suppose she seems happy here.

Just as I’m about to say goodbye, she catches me by surprise by placing her hands lightly on my shoulder. I breathe in and I feel a feather light kiss pressed against my cheek.

My face burns read and words begin tumbling out of my mouth in mumbles and jumbles.

Marc just laughs at me and I elbow him in the stomach, causing him to groan in pain and bend over again.

Alright, maybe I aimed for slightly lower than his stomach.

“Give that to Eren for me,” she smiles.

I can’t fucking speak. Once again Mikasa Ackerman has left me breathless.

Ymir curtly nods at us in what I hope is her way of saying “make sure you don’t die” and Marc and I turn away to begin walking out of the shop, until—

“Oh and Marc,” Ymir calls. Our heads turn to face her again. “Don’t forget what we discussed.”

“I won’t,” he smiles.

Hang on. What have he and _Ymir_ of all people been “discussing”?

Glaring at him for an answer, we walk away from Ymir’s blacksmith’s.

Marc doesn’t say a word about it the whole way home; no matter how much I pester.

* * *

 

My nerves are beginning to get the better of me. It's getting late and he's still not here. 

I look like an idiot.

I'm standing in the very centre of Trost square, like I said I would be, in the dead of night... like I said I would be. But he's late and the anxiety just keeps getting worse.

This is the first time Marc's ever sneaked out at night to come and see me and as a treat for putting up with me for almost three weeks now, I told him that we'd go out and I'd buy him a few drinks.

But he's not here and people are beginning to stare at the strange boy standing alone in the square.

The cool wind makes my spine tingle and I wrap my arms around myself in hopes to generate some kind of heat.

It doesn't work.

I'm so cold, I think my toes are about to fall off.

My leg starts twitching and I start worrying about where he is.

What if he got caught? Or he pissed off the prince? What if he's been given extra work?

Maybe he just doesn't want to see me.

I'm starting to think I should go home.

Disappointment sets in and I start walking. He probably didn't want to see me. He's my apprentice, after all. Maybe asking him out for drinks was a little too much.

"Jean! Stop!"

People around me start frowning at whoever's behind me and mumble amongst themselves. I keep walking.

"Jean! Where are you going?"

A hand slams down onto my shoulder and I snap around to see Marc there, catching his breath. "Told you I'd be here," he grins.

He looks… different. I’m used to seeing him in the same baggy tunic, loose trousers that he constantly trips over and worn hunting boots, but he’s not wearing that tonight. A fitted navy blue tunic hugs his, tight, toned, _glorious_ body, exposing his collarbone. Seems are hidden with golden thread woven into the rich material and a black leather belt is pulled tight around his waist. Skin-tight black trousers are tucked into shining black boots that come up to his knee and it just makes me think why on earth he doesn’t wear clothes like this more often, or where he even has the money to get them. He looks like royalty. Then there’s his face, which I have never seen at night before. His skin seems to be paler, clearer. I can see his freckles as vibrant on his skin as the stars are in the sky. Moonshine sparkles in his eyes as he smiles and it’s contagious. The shadows being cast onto his body accentuate his toned figure even more, his soft jawline and the tiny crevices at the corners of his lips that seem too sweet to tamper with.

My stomach’s doing backflips.

"You're late," I huff, resisting a smile. I’m only teasing him.

He just shrugs, his arms tensing under the material. "I had some trouble getting out. Sneaking out at night is harder than it seems."

Once composed, I nod. "Well you're here now and that's all that matters," I laugh.

Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I drag him towards the tavern across the street.

Lively, quickly paced music is slightly muffled by the walls enclosing the tavern as we approach. Bright, glowing light pours out of the windows and onto the street, illuminating the gravel beneath our feet and the smell of ale is already corrupting my senses.

It's not Joe's like usual – this is Maria's.

When we enter, we’re hit by the musky scent of the wooden furniture and sweetly scented drinks. The once almost inaudible tune now blares in our ears, paired with contented laughter and mumbles from other customers. Girls in long, twisting frocks twirl around the tavern, dancing with chosen partners with drinks in their hands and grins on their faces. Warmth begins growing in my chest as I spy the large fire pit blazing in the back and I pull Marc further in.

Eyes the colour of October light up like a child’s as they take in the senses surrounding them and a smile appears on Marc’s face as one of the girls waves at him. Blushing slightly, he waves back, much to her amusement.

A familiar face is standing behind the bar, like she always is, and I have to drag Marc away before he gets trampled by the dancers.

Settling down on stools, I watch her serve drinks in clay cups with a smile and Marc nudges me to snap me out of my daydream.

“Who’s that?” he asks with a mischievous smile.

“That’s Maria. She owns this place.” I nudge him back harder for being a dick and he just giggles.

I hate it when he does that. It makes my stomach go funny.

Auburn hair curls in ringlets around Maria’s clear, white face and they spin as she spots me. Her grin widens, making her blue eyes gleam and her petite figure flutters towards us.

“And what can I do for you fine gentlemen?” she coos, eyeing both of us like a hawk.

“Two ales,” I wink.

“Is one of them for your friend – assuming he’s your friend – or are they both for you?” she asks slyly, grinning at Marc.

“What do you think?” I chuckle.

She straightens, adjusting her dress strap and walks away calling, “Two for you then!”

Marc leans into the bar to get a clearer look at me. “She seems nice,” he says.

“She’s alright,” I shrug.

The musicians in the far corner begin to play a new tune and more people begin to stand up and find partners. This song’s louder than the one being played before and is a lot quicker. I recognise it from somewhere.

The girl who waved at Marc earlier skips over to us and stands sweetly in front of him with stained cheeks. “May I have this dance?” she asks charmingly, fiddling with her fingers and avoiding Marc’s eyes.

He looks to me straight away, dazed and blushing. “What do I do?” he whispers.

“Go!” I hoot, pushing him off the stool and he trips into the girl’s arms.

She seems nice enough. I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Clutching Marc’s hand in hers, the girl drags him into the centre of the room as the music begins to quicken its step. She stomps her feet on the wood in time with everyone else and Marc copies, only a few paces behind her. The other couples then collide and wrap their arms around each other, turning in and out of one another and intertwining with the other dancers. Skirts fly and fan out as the girls spiral in the arms of their partners. Marc’s getting more flustered with every step.

The twinge in my gut’s getting stronger. I should probably look away, but his smile is just so contagious I can’t help but watch. He seems happy, so I’m happy.

Keep telling yourself that, Jean.

A thud behind me causes me to face the bar again and I see two clay cups placed in front of me.

“So tell me, Jean,” Maria smiles, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Not tonight,” I mumble, taking a sip of my ale.

She leans over the bar so she’s only a fraction away from me. “Is there anyone else you’ve got your eye on?”

The question put forward send chills through me and I know why.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Marc again out of the corner of my eye. Now in time with the music, he’s cheering and laughing as he twirls his partner in his arms, getting dizzier and higher with each step he takes. Her arms are outstretched behind her as they spin, shouting at Marc to go faster.

That smile of his could light up the whole room, and the twinge in my gut tells me that I’m desperate for him to look at _me_ like that.

I admit it – I might be a little jealous.

I turn to Maria again and my blush starts creeping up on me. She’s giving me the kind of smug look that tells me that she _knows_.

Despite this fact, she decides to tease me further: “Male, female or other?”

“Male,” I grouse, taking a sip of ale. I think I’m going to need it for the grilling I’m about to receive.

“How long have you known him for?” she chirps, twiddling her ringlets between her fingers.

“Almost three weeks.”

“Do you love him?”

I should have known she was going to ask me that.

“Maria, you _know_ how I feel about that,” I drone, slurring every word.

With a shrug, she sighs. “Alright, let me rephrase – how do you feel about him?”

I lean my chin into my palm and drum my fingers on my cheek, making hollow noises in my mouth.

Truth be told, I know exactly how I feel about him – I just don’t know how to tell Maria.

“I mean, I certainly find him attractive – there’s no doubt about that; he’s kind to me as well; but he treats me like everyone else and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Why’s that?”

“If he treats me like everyone else, then clearly he only thinks of me as a friend. But on the other hand it’s a good thing, since he doesn’t treat me like a freak.”

She’s frowning at me – I can feel it, yet I continue blabbering anyway.

I guess I need to get some things off my chest.

“Plus, it’s only been three weeks. How can I know how I feel about someone in that amount of time?”

“Jean,” she sighs breathily, leaning towards me. “You can be with someone your whole life and feel nothing for them – not even the tiniest spark. But then, you can be with someone for a little over a month and feel everything. They make you notice things you never did before – like the way people’s voices fizzle on certain words, or how someone’s hair drifts in the breeze. When you find that person, you’ll feel more alive than you ever have before.”

Glowing eyes watch my every move as I take in her words. Every sound that came from her mouth imprints on me, analysing every word.

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.

“But I’m not _in love_ with him,” I gripe.

She quirks an eyebrow at me and leans back again. “I never said you were. I was just merely stating that you clearly enjoy being in his company more than others.”

Questioningly, my brows furrow and I take another gulp of my ale. It took effort to get that out, now I need to reward myself for being so… honest.

Well, there you have it. I may have stirrings for my apprentice.

 “Are you going to tell him?”

I almost spit out my drink.

“What? No! Of course not! Why would I do that?” I squeak and ale dribbles down my chin.

Cackling evilly to herself, she grabs a rag off one of the shelves behind her and starts cleaning up the mess I’ve made of myself. She dabs the material on my skin, humming along to the music being played.

“Thanks, but I can do it myself.”

She stops, winking at me, then hands me the rag to take care of the rest. Then she spins away, grinning to herself. As she leaves to serve other customers, I peer behind me to check up on Marc.

I can’t see him anywhere.

“Shit,” I breathe and I start frantically scanning my eyes over the tavern to try and find him.

It shouldn’t be this hard, he’s wearing fucking _blue_.

Finally, amidst a sea of murky browns and dull reds, I see him in the far corner with the girl pressed up against him. Clearly a little too close for comfort, he's trying to push her away as she leans in closer to him. He's panicking.

Throwing the rag onto the bar, I sprint over to him as fast as my feet can carry me, bumping and crashing into grumbling customers as I go.

Do I care? No. Not really. My priority is my apprentice, not some drunkard warbling along to the music being played.

The girl presses against him even harder and she leans in to kiss him whilst he’s got his eyes wide open, cringing away from her.

He spots me coming towards him and he instantly relaxes. “Jean!” He breathes a sigh of relief. The moment my name leaves Marc’s lips, the girl stops, scowling at me.

Before she can say a single word, I grab Marc’s arm and pull him away from her.

I drag him into the crowd of people dancing in the centre of the tavern and we stand there for a moment as he watches everyone else spiral around us whilst the music twists through them.

I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

Taking a deep breath, I place one of his hands on my shoulder gently and hold the other in my own, raising both of them upwards as Marc begins to catch on.

“W-what are you doing?”

 “Dance with me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Placing my free hand on his waist, I stare up at him, asking for permission and he nods.

Taking a step to the right, we instantly begin flowing along to the music. Already, I’m regretting taking the lead. Marc’s whirling me around the floor in ways that I never thought I could and I just squeeze his hand tighter, beaming like an idiot. With each step we take, we become closer and closer and as the music quickens, so does our pace. Slow, steady strides turn to frantic treading as we try and keep up with the buzzing fiddles, strummed lute and beaten drums. Laughter emits from both of us as he steps on my foot, but we keep going, weaving in and out of all the other couples. And then he does it, he looks at me the way I want him to, grinning from ear to ear and cutting off the blood to my fingers. His eyes are shining brighter than I’ve ever seen them before and I could look into them until the sun comes up. This is so much better than how he looked at the girl.

Swiftly, he removes his hands from me and wraps his arms around my waist, taking the lead. With my arms held tightly around his neck, he spins, the balls of my feet barely touching the ground as the exhilaration speeds through me. He laughs as I grab onto him tighter, chuckling into his neck, clinging on for dear life as he spins me around the floor.

I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

* * *

 

Dizziness eventually set in – whether from being spun around so much, or the ecstasy I'm feeling, I'm not so sure – so Marc and I have been curled up by the fire at the back of the tavern, resting against a bench for fuck knows how long.

A few drinks later and Marc's already starting to feel tipsy. His words are slurring slightly, but they’re still just about coherent, his movements, however, are starting to get sloppy. I don’t think he realises that he’s got his head on my shoulder.

Smouldering fire plays out in front of us, its embers dancing among the kindling, then falling gracefully. The warm glow has Marc hypnotised, his chest slowly rising and falling as he stares into the flames.

“Jean,” he mumbles, shifting slightly so he’s looking up at me. “Why did you choose to become a witch?”

Orange sparks fills his eyes as they stare into mine and I wrap my arm around his shoulders to maintain warmth. “I felt as if I didn’t have a choice. When I found out that I had powers, I thought that I had to. I thought it automatically made me a witch.”

“Didn’t it?”

“No.”

“Don’t you like what you do?”

He leans into me further, gazing up at me with expectancy. When I look at him, I’m reminded of a child with big eyes who sees no bad in the world. I suppose that’s what I like about Marc: he sees the good in everyone.

I miss thinking like that.

“I do now,” I smile.

Nuzzling into me, he returns to watching the fire and only the crackling flames and muffled idle chatter can be heard.

Marc picks his cup off the floor in front of us and sips at his warm drink. His eyes are beginning to droop and I can feel him calming against me.

“Why did _you_ want to become a witch?” I ask.

He tenses, flinching away from me slightly, his lips turning into a tight line.

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you.”

At first I don’t believe him as he stays closed up and inhales deeply, not taking his gaze off me, but then he unwraps my arm from his shoulders and stares at me with complete sincerity.

I brace myself for the worst.

“When I was thirteen, my mother died…”

I straighten up, giving him my full attention and wait for him to carry on.

“She was poisoned by a woman called Kate, my father’s mistress. She used belladonna to kill my mother so she’d die a very slow and painful death. My father called for the local witch, who happened to be your Aunt Hanji. She may not have cured my mother, but in her final moments, she was at peace and it was all thanks to your aunt. I can never thank her enough for that.”

It makes sense. When he saved my life, Marc knew how to cure a person of belladonna poisoning and when we did the curse last week… I don’t blame him for freaking out like he did. I would have done the same.

“Therefore, I wanted to become a witch so I could help people like Hanji helped my family. I want to die knowing that I’ve helped someone. That’s why I was so persistent on the day that we met. I just want to help someone else because I couldn’t help my mother.”

My chest aches and I can feel every ruptile thing inside me shatter into pieces. The pain showing on his skin, through his now careless movements as he takes yet another drink and emotionless eyes hurts. Everything _hurts_.

“Marc, I…” I stop myself before I say something which could make it worse. “I don’t know what to say.”

Smiling wistfully, he leans into me again. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers. “Just keep going like we have and being you. It’s a nice escape from reality.”

But that’s the problem. Escaping reality is only going to get worse. The longer you’re away, the more detached you become. Eventually you’re floating in nothing. Nothing seems real anymore. You become isolated and you push people away. Your family, your friends… you feel nothing in their company anymore because all you want to do is get out and escape. When the moment comes when you do leave them all behind, you regret it in an instant and you’re stuck with this growing loneliness inside you that you just don’t understand. Then it takes a lifetime to rebuild those bridges you burnt down and it’s tiring. It’s _exhausting_. It’s the only thing you think about and the desperation not to be alone consumes you… and the cycle starts again. You want to escape the loneliness. You can’t. You get frustrated. You push people away, and with that destroy those connections you made.

It’s a vicious cycle you can’t escape. It happened to me and I can’t bear to watch Marc do the same.

“Marc,” I say firmly. Droopy eyes stare up at me again and he sits straight, giving me as much thought as he can cope with. “Your reality is everything around you, including me. This _is_ reality. This isn’t an escape. There are demons all around us wherever you go. They’re in your head, in the walls, in the shadows. Everywhere. You can’t escape them. All you can do is embrace that they’re there and get on with your life. It’s the same as your past. You need to embrace the fact that things have happened in your life; things that you just want to forget but can’t. You don’t need to forget them, but embrace them. You were brave, you fought it for so long and now you need to let go of the anger that you have. Your past doesn’t define you, the choices you make and how you deal with it do.”

Despite his glazed state, Marc’s face lightens up and he smiles. He _genuinely_ smiles. It’s not like the big toothy grin he pulled earlier, but it’s still there, clear as day, shining over his features.

“Thank you, Jean,” he whispers and my heart melts.

He’s so close that I could – if I wanted to.

I _really_ want to.

My hands start trembling. He’s only a fragment away from me and he’s not moving, even as I start to move in closer. October eyes follow me as my breath hitches and our noses brush together. Slowly, I tilt my head to the side and—

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me makes me jump away from him and he looks up in horror.

He doesn’t seem fazed by what I just did at all.

“R-Reiner?” he stammers. “Bertholdt? Annie? W-what are you doing here?”

Dreading who I’m about to see, I turn to see three figures towering over us.

Two of them I recognise straight away as members of the Elite Guard, however, I don’t recognise Mr So-Tall-He-Could-Eat-Clouds. All with folded arms and unimpressed scowls etched onto their faces, the three of them look fucking terrifying in the shadows of the tavern.

“We’re taking you home,” the girl (Annie, I think) says flatly.

“R-really?”

“I’m afraid so,” the tall one sighs, relaxing more than the other two. He seems to be the nicer one.

I look back at Marc again. He gulps – knowing that he probably doesn’t have much of a choice – and gets up.

I scramble up after him, but Annie glares at me hissing, “You stay put.”

Holy fuck. Like hell I’m going anywhere near her after that.

Stumbling into the shorter of the two men, Marc laughs. “Sorry, Reiner.”

Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt. At least now I can put names to faces.

Reiner rolls his eyes at the floundering body he’s now having to hold upright and hoists Marc’s arm around his neck. “Come on, you,” he grumbles and the two of them start walking.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Marc calls, waving at me whilst he’s dragged out of the door.

Now I’m faced with the other two.

“How much did he drink?” Bertholdt asks.

Why do they need to know that? Can’t they tell from how badly Marc’s walking?

I shrug. “About three cups.”

Bertholdt visibly shivers, and then turns to Annie for some kind of response.

She doesn’t give me one. She just turns away and starts walking.

Just as Bertholdt turns to follow her, he stops and smiles at me.

What?

“He cares about you. A lot,” he says. Without another word from either of us, he chases after Annie, leaving me alone, confused and completely smitten.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! No kisses yet!
> 
> Next chapter: Marco begins to realise that every action has its consequences.
> 
> If you want me to see something, just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out!
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	6. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have yet another early (ish) update. Hooray!  
> Thank you (again) for all the comments, kudos and messages you've been leaving me, they're all so nice! I wish I could just 'like' them all.  
> Before I get going, I'd really like to say a huge thank you to tumblr users [lotus-flavored-suguce](http://lotus-flavored-suguce.tumblr.com/), [tomatoegeek](http://tomatoegeek.tumblr.com/) and [jackheichou](http://jackheichou.tumblr.com/) for giving me loads of inspiration for this chapter (and plenty more to come)!  
> I have a lot of warnings for this chapter! This chapter's pretty grim and depressing in general if I'm honest, so I'm sorry about that. There's also a lot of blood, bone breaking, gore and mentions of death in this so if that's not your jam, then you've been warned.  
> Enjoy! (maybe)

My head feels like it’s been trampled on by a horse. It’s been throbbing since the moment I woke up and has just gotten worse with the more light my eyes have absorbed. Every sound and whisper makes my head ache and I just want to curl up into a ball and hide.

My limbs feel numb and the soles of my feet are raw and rubbing from all the dancing I did last night. The back of my throat feels dry and sore – it feels like I’ve been swallowing sand.

 _Everything_ aches.

Birds chirp happily outside my window and I truly envy their high-spirits compared to my throbbing headache and awful mood, so I groan and wrap my covers even tighter around myself and pray no one disturbs me.

That hope is short lived.

A knuckle rattles on my door and the sound booms around my skull. “Marco, come on!” a voice that isn’t Petra’s shouts. “His Grace wants to have a word with you.”

Groaning, I shove my head under my pillow in an attempt to block out all the infuriating noise.

Too early. Too tired. Too sore.

I have no motivation to move.

“It’s about your father.”

Alright, maybe there's a _tiny_ part of me that still has some energy.

My head shoots up, a decision I instantly regret as my head starts stinging again from the sudden movement. Rubbing my temples, I sit up straight, yawning and set about actually moving some time soon.

I feel disgusting as my clothes stick my skin then peel off again every time I shift. I probably smell like a mixture of sweat, alcohol and a hint of trepidation.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I look down at myself to realise that I’m actually still dressed in the same clothes I wore last night. That makes sense as I don’t think Reiner would have enjoyed undressing me and why I happen to feel so grotty this morning – or at least I think it’s morning.

As it turns out, Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie _followed_ me last night. They actually _followed_ me. I’m still not quite sure whether to be grateful that they’re worried about me or angry that they don’t trust Jean.

Come to think of it, I don’t really remember much of what happened last night. I remember dancing with Jean and the little chat we had in front of the fire (or parts of it anyway), but that’s about it.

As much as I _believe_ I had fun last night, I don’t think this headache is quite worth it.

“Marco! Hurry up!”

“C-coming!”

Stumbling to get my boots on – which were neatly place beside my bed – I stagger towards the door. When I open it, I see Oluo standing there with knitted brows and arms folded across his chest.

“You missed breakfast this morning,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I know. I wasn't feeling well."

He gazes down the corridor, humming to himself, not uttering another word.

Convinced that I've lost him for a moment, I follow his eyes to try and see what he's looking at, yet there's nothing.

I've lost him.

"Oluo?" I say clearly, trying to coax a response out of him.

“Hm?” He blinks a few times the turns to me again.

“You said that Erwin wants to speak to me about my father.”

“Yes he did,” he says slowly, nodding his head to match his degrading tone.

“What about?”

“How should I know?” he scoffs.

Helpful. Very helpful.

Sighing, I nod in thanks – although he wasn’t much help – and start making my way to the Great Hall, where I hope Erwin is.

The click of Oluo’s boots slowly fades into tiny muffled echoes – thank goodness – as we part ways and my gut starts churning as soon as I realise that I’m alone again, wandering through this stone prison.

Much like how Jean hasn’t spoken to his mother since she left for Jinae, I haven’t spoken to my father either. I’ve sent messages to him to let him know how I’m getting on (none of which contain mentions of Jean, magic, gremlins being blown up or faeries), but he hasn’t replied.

I understand that he’s probably busy, but with almost three weeks of being in Trost it would be nice to get at least some kind of reply from him.

Peering through the door of the hall, I see Erwin pacing over the stone with his hands firmly held behind his back and murmuring to himself with a concerned look on his face. Sighing, he drags his palms over his skin, making his eyes droop and bottom teeth show, then he lets go and his features snap back into place. He seems rather agitated.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “He’s going to be devastated.”

“Erwin, it’s not that hard. Just tell the boy how it is. He’ll understand,” Levi’s voice echoes. Scanning the vast space, I spot him leaning against one of the large tables set for the banquet in a few days.

Quiet as a mouse, I shuffle a little closer over the stone flooring and peer in further to try and get a better listen.

“Levi his father…” Erwin trails off, shaking his head slowly. “I’d never do something like this to my own son.”

A rush of air leaves me as I stare at Erwin’s disheartened expression. I can feel myself shaking.

Levi’s shoulders shoot upwards and his eyes land on me with a scowl. I inhale sharply, scuffling further away from the entrance and keeping myself tense and pressed up against the wall outside.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray that he won’t say anything.

Who am I kidding? It’s Levi. Of course he’s going to…

“Marco, it’s rude to eavesdrop,” he grumbles.

I’m really beginning to despise the fact that Levi’s a vampire. No human could have heard me _breathing_ like he did just then. It really does make snooping around a difficult task.

With a regrettable sigh, I shift away from my hiding place, scratching the back of my neck and come into view of the two of them. “S-sorry,” is the only response I can offer them.

Erwin straightens as I walk into the hall and beckons me over to where Levi is standing – although I’m not sure that’s a good idea since I’m still wearing the necklace. Well, it is covered, so it _should_ be fine.

As their eyes fixate on me harder, I begin to worry. What if they can _smell_ the alcohol on me? Levi probably can, but it’s not him I’m worried about. If Erwin finds out, he’ll tell my father and then I’ll have to…

What if that’s what this is about? What if Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt told my uncle?

They wouldn’t, would they? I’m sure they wouldn’t.

But what if Erwin just… _knows_? He can probably see it written all over me.

_I sneaked out last night to drink and dance with another man._

When put like that it sounds even worse.

I’m done for.

Leaning against the table a reasonable distance away from Levi (that’s not because of the necklace, it’s just because he scares me), I give Erwin my undivided attention. As some kind of support mechanism, I grasp onto the edge of the table to calm my trembling fingers.

Worrying at his lip, Erwin begins pacing again, evading my gaze. I start shaking and glance over at Levi, who only provides me with a slight shrug.

Well this isn’t good.

“Marco,” Erwin finally speaks, still pacing and staring at the floor. “As we all know, it’s your nineteenth birthday this weekend and celebrations start on Saturday, correct?”

“Yes.” I grip the table a little harder.

Erwin pauses in front of me and stares at me grimly.

At least he’s actually looking at me now.

“Your father’s messenger arrived here this morning with a letter.”

Oh.

“Unfortunately, he won’t be able to make the celebrations this weekend. He sends his regards.”

_Oh._

Is that it? No ‘happy birthday, my _only_ son’? Not even an ‘I’m sorry’? Just ‘I can’t make it. I send my regards’?

“Can I see the letter?” I ask.

Erwin shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. It contains private affairs between your father and me.”

“Didn’t he say anything else?” My voice has become rushed and loud in frustration, but I don’t care. My shaken voice booms around the halls and Erwin just sighs.

“ _Erwin_ ,” Levi glowers, “tell him the rest.”

My eyes shift beside me to Levi, who’s staring Erwin down with thin, squinted eyes.

There’s _more_?

“Marco.” I turn to face my uncle again and he’s taken on an even edgier tone than before. I’m guessing this is more serious than my birthday. “Do you… _like_ staying here?”

What kind of question is that? Although, I feel there’s more to it.

“Y-yes. Of course I do. I love it here.” Not a single word is a lie. Even before I met Jean I loved it here. Now that I’ve met Jean though, I’m truly beginning to fall in love with this part of the world – monsters or no monsters.

Erwin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself for whatever’s about to come out of his mouth. He nods solemnly. “Your father has requested that your living arrangements here to become a little more… permanent.”

“ _Permanent_?” I lurch forwards, still keeping my firm grip on the table.

I certainly wasn’t expecting that.

It takes me a moment for what Erwin’s just said to sink in.

I’m not going back to Jinae after the plague has cleared up. I’m staying here in Trost. My own father doesn’t want me home.

My gut churns. I feel sick.

I’m having mixed feeling about this. On one hand, staying here permanently is _exactly_ what I’d want. I’d get to see Jean every day. I’d be free.

However, on the other hand, I’ve started to realise something: I don’t think my father _does_ want me around, after all.

The plague isn’t a permanent thing. Eventually, it’ll go and everything will return to normal. But even so, my father doesn’t want me to come home after this epidemic has cleared.

In other words, I would have been fine in Jinae. He just used the plague as an excuse to get rid of me.

I slump backwards into the table as this realisation hits me and keep my eyes focussed on the stone floor. Eyes from all angles scrutinise me; I can feel them boring into the side of my head, laughing at me.

I really am alone here.

_So this is what it feels like to be truly unwanted._

I can’t stand it. The feeling is cold and dark and it creeps through my bones like a pest. It makes me shudder from the abandonment and I just want to scream. I’m completely alone in this stone cage.

It’s not _here_ that I love about Trost. I despise this building. I love my uncle, but I’m trapped and incarcerated and some days I feel like the air of my lungs keeps being squeezed out. There’s no _real air_ to breathe. Everything here is cold and dead and I _can’t stand it_.

I’m here to see Jean. That’s all.

I think I’m losing my mind.

_I am alone. I am unwanted. I am unloved by my own father._

It’s the same words over and over again rolling around in my skull and it just makes my headache worse.

What did I do? What did I do to become such a disappointment to my father that he doesn’t even want to see me anymore?

The eyes are still laughing at me. They’re all around me, slowly closing in, mocking my very existence and I _need_ to get out of here.

My eyes become sore and my vision gets clouded. I know what’s coming next.

_Go on, Marco. Snivel like a child. It won’t make your father want you again, but you might as well just do it._

I don’t. I’m too enraged to listen to the voices in my head.

I look up to see Erwin staring soberly at the ground. He doesn’t know what to do either. “I’m sorry, Marco. If there’s anything Levi and I can do—“

“No. There’s nothing.” I’m on the verge of screaming in frustration. I can feel the wretchedness coiling inside me slowly boiling into rage and I need to leave before I do something stupid.

_I just want to know what I did wrong._

“Please may I be excused?” I sniff, looking back at the floor again.

There’s a long pause of awkward, hanging silence before Erwin speaks again.

“Y-yes. Of course you can. Would you like me to send Petra—“

“No thank you. I’d quite like some time to myself.”

I need to see Jean.

Giving Levi a side glance, he nods. He knows where I’m going.

Not giving either of them signs that I feel like I’ve just been punched in the gut, I leave and once I’m out of sight, I run.

I run all the way back to my room and as soon as I know I’m alone, I let my pathetic snivels that have been building up in the corners of my eyes loose. And they really are pathetic. _I’m_ pathetic.

I need to see Jean. I need to get out of here.

With that on my mind, I hurriedly change into Bertholdt’s clothes and climb out the window.

I don’t stop running.

 

* * *

 

Bitter cold winds slap me in the face as I run across the field towards the shop. The closer I get, the closer I am to feeling alright again. The closer I am to being free. That feeling only encourages me to run faster.

Rabbit holes are no longer an obstacle here, so I sprint through the grass as it wisps around my ankles and my tunic rides upwards as I bound faster. I’m so close. _He’s_ so close. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.

Shooting through the front door is like a breath of fresh air and the familiar, calming smell of lavender fills me. I’m instantly lifted. I’m free again. Although it’s only a temporary fix, it’s all I have left.

Breathing in the air around me and taking in the now usual sight of the shop that I know from corner to corner, I realise that it’s been abandoned and Jean’s nowhere to be seen.

He must be in the back room.

As I step further in, I see that the door to the room is firmly shut.

I scan the shop again, just in case.

Gumbie’s nowhere to be seen either. He must be in there.

“Hello?” I call, praying for a response.

I don’t get one. My voice just travels through the room and fades into nothing.

I hope he hasn’t forgotten about me.

Frowning and a little worried, I press my ear against the wood and I’m relieved to hear soft murmurs escaping through the cracks. It _must_ be him.

Prying open the door just a tad, I peer in.

Thank goodness he’s there and hasn’t gotten himself killed.

Then I freeze and stare at him with wide eyes.

Jean’s standing over his desk with his arms outstretched to his sides with some kind of decorated stick in one hand and a knife in the other. His head is tipped backwards, facing the ceiling and soft murmurs and grumbles rattle in his throat in another language. Pale smoke rises from the cauldron in front of him as he chants some form of spell and then his head falls forwards again.

“Hear me knights of past, knights of the ancient law. Hear me dead knights of an English tongue. Hear me knights lost in battle, who's blade did good. Hear me knights of old, hear me knights of lost souls. This night I invoke thee. I summon thee to his arms aid,” he rasps, clenching both the items in his hand tighter.

“Hear me knights, a new cause be given. Your body gone now, spirit be. Hear me dead knights, I invoke thee. By your spirit blade, I invoke you. By your might, I invoke you. By your spirit, I invoke you. Come now, follow a new cause, I summon thee.” He begins circling the cloud of smoke in front of him with the stick, drawing patterns and waves in the mist as it fades into nothing.

“Each of thee I enlist. I invoke you dead knights lost. Hear me and come to his aid. Hear me and fight at his side. Protect him from spirits harm. Fight his battles I say to thee. Hear me Spirits of lost knights, come to his aid, come to his side. Protect him from spirits harm. Protect him from spirits light.” He raises the knife to his forehead, still keeping the stick poised in front of him, drawing new unrecognisable shapes in the air, and taps the metal to his skin thrice with eyes screwed shut. He then places the stick on the desk and opens his eyes again, eyeing the mixture inside the cauldron.

I don’t know how he hasn’t seen me. I’m right in his view, yet he hasn’t reacted to my presence.

With his free hand, Jean picks up a piece of parchment and folds it in half. There’s a name written on it. I can see the outline of it in the sunlight. He places the knife under the fold in the paper and with a tug, he rips it into two. He then continues to rip it again until it has become eight, tiny pieces of paper and then his attention turns to the smoking cauldron again.

“I invoke you.” One piece falls into the mixture. “I invoke you.” Another. “I invoke you.” And another. He does it twice more, until he has three left in the palm of his hand.

He hesitates. Glancing at the knife in his hand, he sighs wryly. “The things I do for you,” he mumbles. Pressing the knife blade to his skin, he inhales and winces.

He isn’t. Is he really going to…? For a spell?

Grimacing, he drags the blade over his palm, gritting his teeth and grunting at the pain.

I don’t believe it. He’s using his _own blood_ in a spell for _another_ person.

Astonished, I watch as the parchment becomes soaked with blood and with a hitch in his voice, he starts chanting again.

“Let my army be done.” The final pieces of blood soaked paper fall into the concoction and drops of Jean’s blood soon follow suit. “Let it be… Let it be.”

The mixture crackles and simmers as he speaks those final words and with a final squeeze of his palm, more blood drips in. He grunts and once he’s satisfied, his body crumples with a sigh of relief.

Blood. He used _blood_ in a spell. He told me that I couldn’t do that. Using blood in spells means that you’ve made an eternal bond that will go with you to your grave. It cannot be undone and it symbolises a sacrifice. Spells bound with blood are the most powerful you can get and are not advised – especially since blood bonding is associated with black magic.

“Jean, what are you doing?” I ask. He nearly jumps out of his skin with a squeaking yelp as he hears my voice and stumbles backwards, crashing into one of the shelves.

I walk into the room, shutting the door behind me and point to the mixture on the desk with my eyebrows raised.

“W-what the _fuck_ , Marc?!” he shrills, composing himself, and then realising that he’s still bleeding from his palm. He quickly tries to cover it with his sleeve, but I’ve seen it already, so I give him my most wrathful glare, hoping to coax some kind of explanation out of him.

Blushing sheepishly, he hides his hand behind his back and stares at me like an innocent child.

Innocent. _Sure_.

“Wh-what are you even doing here? You’re early.”

“Jean, why did you just cut yourself?” I scowl, ignoring his question. I’m really not in the mood to talk about that. Folding my arms across my chest, I try to seem unimpressed. I’m hoping he can’t see right through me and realise that I’m actually terrified for him.

“Needed it for a spell,” he grumbles, leaning back against the shelves again and knocking the jars a little.

“What kind of spell?” My frown deepens in concern and I take a step closer.

“Protection.”

“Protection from _what_ and for _whom_?”

“Why does it matter?” Straightening, he glowers at me. I storm over to him and grab his hand from behind his back. He does nothing to stop me as I roll back his sleeve and inspect the gash on his palm.

“Why, Jean?” I murmur. My eyes flick upwards to meet his. I’m met by a quirked eyebrow and an amused smile. It’s sort of off putting during this kind of situation. “What?”

Sighing, he rolls his eyes and a glint of white light catches in the corner of my eye. I look down and the gash in his palm is shining a luminous white, sealing itself back up, only leaving behind the remains of dried blood on his skin.

Right. I forgot he could do that.

Letting go of him, I take a step back, nodding in apology. I raise my hands in the air, admitting defeat, but that still doesn’t explain why he did it in the first place.

Once the cut seals, Jean picks up the cauldron and places it on the windowsill to set, then continues to tidy up the rest of his equipment, including the bloody knife.

As he picks it up, I quickly snatch it out of his hand, causing him to grumble.  Scowling, I hold it up to his face. “Blood, Jean. Why did you need blood for that spell?”

He takes one look at the metal blade, still dripping with his blood, and then another glance at my concerted scowl (or, at least I hope it looks like that. If not, then I’ll look like a fool).

“Why do you need to know?” he shrugs.

“Why are _you_ being difficult?”

He seizes the knife from my grasp and wipes the blood on his sleeve. Clearly ignoring me, he places it and the rest of the equipment in their rightful places on the shelves.

“Please, Jean. I _really_ don’t need this today,” I beg. I came here to be free, not be burdened by Jean being problematic.

When he turns to face me again, I’m still wearing the same scowl as before, but now it’s just turning into apprehension rather than anger. “Jean, why did you use a blood bond for that spell? Was it really that important to you?”

He shrugs. “I suppose so.”

“Then why—“

“Look, Marc,” he sighs, “it was for a customer. They paid me good money, so I did it. End of.”

I don’t believe a word of it. His face is practically screaming at me that he’s lying. Trembling, tight lips are chapped from being worried at and to hide this, Jean’s mannerisms have become more and more repetitive. He keeps scratching under his nose to cover his mouth from me and his body seems to be slowly closing in on itself. It’s all lies – I can tell.

Although I have this fact in mind, I give up. He’s too stubborn to actually tell me the truth, so I sigh and nod, just like he wants me to.

When I do this, his body promptly eases. “Good,” he smiles.

Fake. Fake. Fake. It’s all fake.

Resting his hand on my shoulder, he finally gives me a genuine smile and I’m put at ease for a reason that I can’t explain. I’m starting to believe that he’s placed some kind of enchantment on me that makes me feel like I’m melting every time he comes anywhere near me.

“How’s your head?” he asks, changing the subject.

I decide to go along with it.

“It hurts,” I chuckle. “What did you do to me last night?”

The smile fades and his hand falls off my shoulder and down to his side. I’m put on edge again.

Was it something I said?

“You don’t remember anything from last night, do you?” he breathes forlornly.

“I-I remember… parts. I remember dancing with you and what you said to me by the fire, but…”

“That’s it?”

I nod. “That’s it.”

Puffing out his cheeks, he sighs and stares at me with dreary eyes.

I’m guessing that he’s not feeling too good himself.

“How’s _your_ head?” I ask, placing the back of my hand against his forehead. It’s boiling hot, yet I can’t tell if that’s from making potions all morning or from last night.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, shaking my hand away. “I’ll live.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure,” he smiles.

* * *

 

We end up not doing much else all day. We sit behind the counter in the main shop just… talking, with Gumbie constantly moving in between us, depending on who gives him more attention.

We talk about almost everything – ourselves, our interests, what we want to do before we die. Everything.

Jean says that he despises living in Trost. He says that he feels like he’s trapped and has no escape. The very smell of the town centre makes him want to vomit and he’s so used to the sights that nothing bothers him anymore. He feels like he does the same thing every day and that it’s become the same mindless routine until I show up. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking.

Freedom. That’s all he wants. That’s what _we_ want.

He tells me that if he could leave tomorrow, he would. He would pack his things – and Gumbie – and leave for Stohess.

I’ve only been there once myself, but I can see why he’d want to go.

Sited by a vast lake, the town of Stohess is a thriving farming town, rich with wildlife and surrounded by lush, green land. Legend has it that the lake – named the Titan Loch – has healing powers, which the locals value greatly and have annual festivals where they bless all the babies born the past year in the waters.

The town itself is glorious. Rows of neatly built houses with thatched rooftops and stone walls line the land and are not too far from a luscious green forest, that isn’t teaming with mythical creatures. It has a calming, peaceful atmosphere and truly is the very meaning of perfection. Anyone would be mad to not want to live there.

With this in mind, I make Jean a firm promise that one day, I’ll take him there. Whether it’s in the near or distant future, we’ll go.

I also find out that Jean doesn’t remember much of his father. He died when Jean was still a small child and his mother has taken care of him ever since. She sounds like a nice person, although I must say that I’m a little nervous for when she returns from the capital to fine, well… me.

Jean’s still worried about her. We still haven’t heard anything from Hanji and the plague keeps spreading.

He says he’s fine, but he isn’t – I can see it in his eyes. They don’t have the same spark they did when I first met him. Bright amber is slowly losing its mischievous glow and is turning duller and duller by the day.

I’m worried about him.

Of course he dismisses me and tells me to stop being ridiculous, but I can’t help but notice the slight tremble in his fingers.

I just wish he’d open up to me a little more.

 

* * *

 

_I’m sure I opened my eyes. I know I did. I definitely felt the feeling of my eyelashes unclasping and the cool air resting against my senses, yet I see nothing. I look up expecting to see stars, the moon or even a sign that I’m still in my room or somewhere I know, but I see nothing but black, void nothingness staring back at me._

_I do not know where I am and the tremor of loneliness begins creeping through me. The darkness here has consumed all life and it is just me; alone and floating in the void._

_Everything is empty and as I frantically glance around me, I see that all my surroundings are void and black too._

_This is a darkness that is so total, I have to reach my hands to my face to check that I still have eyes. The familiar flutter of my eyelashes against my skin gives me some form of relief, but I’m still trapped here._

_There’s nothing else here but me._

_Stretching out like a map, the darkness begins spreading, invading, closing in around me. I can feel it pressing up against me, making my clothes stick to my skin and my breath heavy. It crawls through my blood, tainting everything in its path, then it reaches my mind and it begins to study me. My thoughts, my fears – every single one being closely monitored by this ever growing black and it makes me shiver._

_I’m trapped, powerless and unhinged. I cannot move a single muscle._

_I’m panicking._

_I try to scream out for help, but to no avail. My throat is as dry as sand and I’m alone._

_I. Am. Alone._

_The tendrils curling around my joints let go and I’m falling, unable to scream as I tumble into an everlasting obscurity. My breaths coming out as short, sharp pants as I plummet and my screaming comes out in a rattling, broken silence._

_I am alone. I am alone. I am alone._

_I am falling to my death and there is no one to save me._

_I’m going to die. This is really the end of me._

_A crippling thud rushes through my spine as I hit the ground below, knocking all the life and air out of my chest, disappearing into the dark in a pale mist. As it drifts away from me, I can feel it taking my last breaths with it and the very willpower to stand. I can feel myself withering away and crumbling as the air is taken out of my lungs._

_I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying._

_I can feel it. I can feel my insides slowly blackening and collapsing as I fall in on myself and I curl up into a ball with no air left in me to scream and I just wait to die._

_It feels like forever. Dying alone in the dark with no one around you as you rot away is not how I imagined this to happen. It’s not how I even **wanted** it to happen. I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to be alone._

_I don’t think anyone will even miss me. That’s what the whispers in my ears are telling me._

_I am alone because I’m unwanted. My own father doesn’t want me around. Jean won’t talk to me about anything anymore._

_Two of the most important people in my life no longer want me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m dying a slow, excruciating death in a void of nothingness far away from any form of life and there’s nothing I can do except… die._

_Just get it over with already. I get it. I’m alone. Just do it quickly. I can’t take this anymore._

_Wet skin presses against my forehead and rattling, shaken, cold breath breathes against my lips._

_I can no longer tell if my eyes are open or closed, so I rely on my other barely functional senses to figure out my surroundings._

_Something soft and inviting brushes against my lips briefly, but desperation clouds my thoughts and I reach out, feeling through the black for that slightest touch again._

_The breathing stops. I’m alone again._

_Heat surges through my core the moment I can’t hear that cold breath any longer and I twist my body to face the source of the warmth. Everything the burn touches begins to radiate energy and I feel myself begin to glow from the heat._

_Maybe I’m not dying, after all._

_This time I’m sure that I open my eyes and the sight they see makes me bolt upright in a sudden rush of adrenaline._

_The heat drains out of me as quickly as it had surged through me as I realise what this is._

_My heart drops and the heat is replaced with a spine tingling chill, making my limbs go numb and lips tremble._

_The entire darkness is illuminated by a roaring orange flame, twisting and curling into the black above me. Thick, grey smoke clouds the sky and catches in my throat, yet I’m too numb to care._

_Whirling winds circle around me, begging me to come closer to the flame, but I just sit there numb, cold and empty. It’s coiling inside me, growing, burning, choking me to death._

_Then the smell snakes its way into my lungs and I feel like I’m going to throw up._

_Burning, rotting flesh fills my senses and crackles in the flames in front of me. A blackened silhouette of another person lies in the flames, slowly burning away like the pages in a long forgotten book and their ashes dwindle away into the cruel winds whirling around me. I can’t make out a face from this distance and by this point I probably won’t be able to, but I stay away from the fire, trembling in my own skin, clinging to my body and still entirely numb._

_Numb. Unfeeling. Detached._

_This is all too real._

_I feel empty and lost. I feel alone in this darkening abyss as I watch a body – a once living body – being burnt away like painful memories._

_Despite all this, the bonfire before me rages on, crackling and emitting sparks of gold. I’m so close to the heat of it, I can feel it crawling on my skin, but I shiver anyway._

_The flames rage on and the blackened and charcoaled silhouette trapped inside them begins to flay. The body crumbles into nothing, becoming one with the darkness. Ash and dust from the remains scatter through the fire and whirl above me, twisting and curling into shapes and mutilated figures, then rain down on me in a tidal wave of anguish. The dust thickens around me, blocking out the warm glow of the bonfire and I’m cast into the abyss again._

_Silent screams of panic run through me as I try and brush the ashes off, but they crumble into my skin, blackening my hands and my blood. I try to stand and run, but a force that presses down harder and harder on my chest keeps me firmly in my place – huddled and curled up into a tight ball, screaming for a chance to get away and to wash the dirt off my hands._

_Someone help me! My skin… my skin… it’s black! Black!_

_It keeps spreading as more and more ash pours down onto me, snaking its way into my lungs and makes the air so dense that I can no longer breathe._

_I can’t breathe!_

_I’m coughing and spluttering to get the dust out of my system, but the more my mouth stays open, the more the ash crawls into me._

_I can’t breathe! Help me!_

_“Stop.”_

_The ashes fall to the ground like flies at the command and the sight of the now dying fire returns. Only tiny sparks remain as they dance and play like children in the charred wood and thick, sombre smoke clouds the air._

_My hands are still blackened by the ash and dust and slowly fade into the sickly white of my skin the further up my arms it travels._

_I don’t remember being this pale._

_I look beside me and a cloaked, shadowed figure hangs over me like the plague, watching the tinder with a blank, hollow face. I stand up, the weight finally lifted, judging its eerie calmness and then it turns to me, its eyes hooded by the long, rugged, black cloak._

_I want to react. I want to ask it who they are and what the hell this is, but I am unable to speak. I lurch towards them, trying to scream, but the words won’t come out._

_Clenching my fists, I start stomping against the ground, trying to make some kind of noise, but the figure does nothing._

_I try screaming again, but only a broken, pathetic wheeze leaves me._

_I want them to go away. I want them to leave me alone._

_Ire sweltering in me, I charge over to the figure and yank down their hood._

_My chest gives in to the unbearable torment that spreads through me as a familiar, all too real face is revealed._

_“Jean?” I whimper and he glares, the fire burning in his ochre eyes. “Jean, what’s going on?”_

_I reach out to touch him, just to know that I’m not alone, but a sharp, twisted snap of his head stops me dead in my tracks, his eyes burning brighter than ever before. But it’s not from the fire; it’s something different that I’ve never seen before and it makes my skin crawl._

_This isn’t the Jean I know. This **can’t** be him._

_Despite his resistance, I grab his wrist, pulling him in closer to me and his eyes begin to morph from warm bronze, to a black that is too dark to look in to. The dark clouds the amber until the light in him is all gone and all I’m left with is a body that looks like my Jean, but is slowly turning into a monster._

_Flinching away, I keep hold of his arm and my breath catches in my throat. Purple, blue and black bruises line the skin around his wrists and as I see this he **snarls** at me, bearing pointed, jagged fangs, surrounded by rotting, black flesh. The decay keeps spreading over his skin, turning it purple, blue, grey, then black. Flayed, peeling, grey skin begins to fall away from him and tumble to the ground as he growls at me. He’s rotting away right in front of me and I don’t know what to do. I’m completely frozen and terrified at the thing in front of me._

**_I just want my Jean back._ **

_“Jean!” I cry. I let go of him, but he grabs me by my tunic, fisting his hands into the material and screeches. I can almost feel the point of his teeth against my skin as he drags himself closer and closer until we’re pressed chest to chest, with black, empty eyes staring back at me._

_The Jean I knew is no longer there. All I am left with is a decaying monster._

_Jean throws me to the floor, my spine shattering on impact with the hard ground and it renders me to a silently screaming, withering mess. A fragment of bone protrudes out of my skin and I have no way of moving so that I’m not lying on it, making it dig into my lungs._

_Suffocating, paralysed and broken._

**_This_ ** _is how I’m going to die._

_Jean suspends over me and then shrieks, his hot breath burning against my skin. Then he lunges towards me and sharp, agonising jaws clamp down into my skin._

_I scream._

 

* * *

 

My body leaves the ground and I bolt upright, clutching onto my chest as my heart pounds in my ears and screams run through my head.

I can’t breathe. It’s dark and I’m alone and I’m panicking. I need to get up. I need to run. I need to get my Jean back.

With a clenched jaw, screwed shut eyes and damp palms I screech through this heart-wrenching, adrenaline-rushing panic overdrive and my hands fumble around me to find some sense of relief.

I can’t even muster enough breath to scream out his name as I deteriorate in the dark.

My chest is _throbbing_ from the agony rushing through my blood and my mouth is so dry I can’t speak. I can’t say a word. All I can do is sit here and gasp for breath.

Cold, spine chilling liquid runs over my skin and my breath hitches in my throat.

Am I bleeding? Am I dying? What’s going on?

I don’t know where I am. I’m certain that I’m dead.

Shaking, I curl up into a ball and scream into the soft fabric beneath me, my tears soaking into the material and dampening it – or it’s my blood and I’m slowly bleeding to death.

I pull on the first thing my fists can find and I scream even louder as I pull on my own hair.

A firm hand clamps down around my wrists and pulls them behind my back.

“Leave me alone!”

I try and shrug them off, but they’re too strong for me and I’m flipped over onto my back, kicking and screaming.

“Marco!” a voice growls and the sound of skin slapping, followed by a sharp pain in my cheek makes my eyes shoot open.

Still in a slight panic, I push myself up against the hard surface behind me and take in my surroundings.

I’m in my room. I’m alive. I’m not alone.

My breathing begins to ease as the familiar setting begins to sink in.

It was just a dream.

I glance over to the window and a tall, broad figure stands there, blocking out the moonlight, their hands on their hips as they watch me cower away in my bed sheets. My heart’s still pounding against my ribcage.

“Who are you?” I exhale as I try and make out their face. They’re shrouded by the shadows in the room and the uneasiness returns.

Shadows shift as the figure approaches me and I shuffle further away from the stomping footsteps coming ever closer.

Ymir’s strong, angular features come into view as she stands over my bed, looking at me like a long dead relative.

“You should probably tell Jean about those nightmares,” she huffs, folding her arms across her chest.

Oh. So she’s realised.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? They seem pretty bad.”

“I don’t want to worry him.”

She sighs wearily, dragging us both into an edgy silence.

This isn’t the first nightmare about Jean I’ve had and they’re getting progressively worse. At first it was just a normal, regular nightmare – I didn’t _feel_ anything. Now I feel everything. When Jean bit me in that dream, I felt it even after I woke up. I still feel it now and in an instinct, I map out where he’d dug his teeth into me with my fingertips.

Clearly Ymir knows that there have been more. Lots more. One every night since…

Change the subject. Don’t think about it.

“Your money’s—“

“Already taken care of,” she says, holding up the small pouch I’d left out for her over a week ago and jingling it.

I nod and shuffle a little further under my sheets. This is slightly awkward since I’m only half-dressed.

“How long have you been having them for?” she asks. I frown at her, although I know what she’s talking about. She sighs and makes herself comfortable at the end of my bed as far away from me as she can manage. Good. This is weird as it is anyway. “The nightmares.”

“Since Jean got bitten by a vampire about two weeks ago,” I blurt, instantly regretting that decision.

“And you never thought to tell him this?”

I shake my head.

“You’re not going to, are you?” she scoffs.

“No.”

Amusedly, she hums to herself and begins pacing around my room, inspecting all the now childish decorations and ornaments placed on various shelves and surfaces. “You don’t want to tell him that you view him as a monster that’s trying to kill you, yes?”

I straighten in defence. “I don’t view him as a monster.”

“Your dreams would suggest differently.”

“Then what do you propose I do?”

Ymir stops pacing and her eyes take on a darker tone. Almost as if she were in a trance, she wanders worryingly close to me and glares into my eyes. “There is a darkness growing all around us, Marco. We may not sense it, but it's there. It's getting stronger, and one day it'll destroy everything you love. You are in great danger. The darkness will find you, and you will have to fight it. You and Jean are the only things that can stop it. You know why. But there is hope. You may not see it now, but a great light has crossed your path. Treat it well. Cherish it. Love it. It may be the one thing that saves you in this life.”

As her final words leave her lips, her eyes return to their normal tone, yet I see panic growing in them. She flinches away from me and returns to pacing, mumbling to herself and worrying at her lip.

“Ymir?” I frown, hoping for some form of explanation.

Ignoring me, she stands at the foot of my bed and purses her lips, pondering to herself.

It’s almost as if she’s completely dismissed what she’s just said.

I open my mouth to speak, still confused by her odd speech, but she cuts me off before I can say a single word.

“Hag stones. You need a hag stone,” she mumbles, shoving her hands into her tunic pockets and fumbling around for something.

Hag stones. I’m _sure_ Jean’s mentioned those before.

Hag stones have a naturally occurring hole in their body and are usually found near oceans, lakes or rivers. They are said to be powerful protection charms, and when worn or carried they protect the bearer from curses, hexes, negative spirits and harm. They have also been used to prevent nightmares. If one broke, it is thought to have used its power to protect a life. 

Ymir makes a rough, satisfied noise as she pulls a small lump of stone out of her pocket. She admires it for a moment, smiling slightly, then throws it onto the bed.

Does she have magic pockets or something?

Wait. Anything goes, remember?

I’m really not used to this mythical being thing yet.

“Do you know what to do with it?” Ymir asks.

Taking the stone into my hand, I nod and begin studying it further. It fits into the palm of my hand easily, its soft bumps and uneven edges rubbing against my skin, and is fairly flat. A gravelly, off-white colour covers the stone and a small, perfectly circular hole lies in the centre of it. Legend says that if you look through that hole, you can see the faeries that dwell in this world.

A slight sense of excitement fills me as I remember this and I hold the stone up to my eye, hoping to see Christa sitting on Ymir’s shoulder.

I don’t see her. All I see is a very lethargic and droopy eyed Ymir, scowling at me like I’m an idiot.

“You didn’t bring Christa?” I ask, slightly disappointed.

She shakes her head. “She’s tired.”

Silence falls again and run my fingers over the stone in my hand in slow circles. It’s almost hypnotising. Lost in the impossibility of the stone’s appearance, I begin to softly hum along to the tune sneaking its way into my head.

 _Under the lime tree_  
On the heather,  
Where we had shared a place of rest,  
Still you may find there,  
Lovely together,  
Flowers crushed and grass down-pressed.  
Beside the forest in the vale,  
Tándaradéi,   
Sweetly sang the nightingale.

“You sing that a lot.”

I snap out of it and stare bewilderedly at Ymir, leaning against the wall by the window.

I didn’t even see her move.

“My mother taught it to me when I was…”

Wait. That’s not right. How does Ymir know that I sing that a lot? I’ve only met her twice.

“’Under The Lime Tree’, right?” she asks.

“Y-yes.”

“Those last verses are pretty interesting for you of all people to be singing, Marco.”

“I-I… uh…”

Ymir straightens up with a sigh and poises in front of the window, looking out into the cold, black sky. “About our deal, Marco… It may take a little longer than expected.”

Dropping the previous subject, I stand to attention. “Why?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, her breath becoming a pale mist in the cool air. “There’s a debt to be paid, Marco. There’s nothing I can do to shorten the time.”

Oh. That’s annoying.

“How long?” I ask.

“Two years.”

“ _Two years_?”

Glaring at me coldly, she snaps her head towards me and snarls. “You’re lucky I’m even doing this for you. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done and you barely even know what you’re doing.”

“I want to help,” I say firmly, fisting my hands in the sheets.

“Then you should have let it run its course,” she hisses.

Before I can say anything else, Ymir’s wings shoot out from underneath her cape in a furious rage, white feathers flying everywhere and a gust of wind rushes over me. She jumps onto the windowsill, looking out into the night. Still glaring at me, she poises herself like an eagle ready to pounce.

“You should listen to your friends, Your Highness. Their advice could save you from the pain and misery that awaits you,” she warns.

Not another word is said from either of us as she jumps down from the window and into the night. A shiver crawls over my skin as her words imprint on me and only the sound of wings colliding with the wind can be heard in the shadowed black that is now enclosing me.

I don’t sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

Since I don’t really have anything else to do during the mornings, I’ve recently started helping Armin in the stables. It’s a calming job, despite the hard work and I really like talking to Armin. He has some really intriguing ideas about the world around us and much like Jean, he wants to get out of Trost too.

We do this every morning now. Straight after breakfast, I run to the stables and help Armin groom and feed the horses. Although, we never really get much work done since we talk the whole time.

Today’s no different. We’re done with work and our bones feel like they’re about to give out on us, so we’re sitting on boxes in the centre of the barn whist the horses around us huff and puff in time with our breathing.

I still have a while until I need to see Jean and this suits me so much better than waiting in my room, pacing like an impatient child.

I think this life is really beginning to grow on me.

“So, Marco,” Armin smiles, “have you told Jean yet?”

I choke on the musky air around me and stare wide eyed at him.

Is he mad?

If I could see my face right now, it would probably resemble the way Gumbie looks when you disturb whilst he’s… cleaning himself.

One eyebrow raised, Armin shakes his head in disappointment. “So you haven’t told him?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to any time soon?” he shrugs.

We fall silent.

As much as I did enjoy talking to Jean yesterday and not being shouted at for messing up yet another potion, I sensed something different about him.

He wasn’t as open with me as he usually is and he didn’t insult me once. I also noticed that he seemed to zone out at some points whilst I was talking to him. And when I went to say goodbye, he wouldn’t let me hold him like he usually does. Come to think of it, he hardly let me touch him at all.

I’m pretty certain that I’ve done something wrong. I think I may have been too harsh on him about the blood bonding.

Maybe he wasn’t lying to me at all and _that’s_ why he’s upset. What if he thinks I don’t trust him?

“Marco?”

Armin pulls me back into the real world and is looking at me with concern written all over him, leaning further and further towards me as I begin worrying at my lip.

“I think I’ve hurt Jean’s feelings. If I tell him that I’m the prince, then he’ll dislike me even more,” I mumble, keeping my eyes away from Armin’s.

I hear him sigh forlornly, followed by the sound of a solid object being dragged across the crackling hay and I look back to find him sitting right next to me. He places his hand on my shoulder with a comforting smile and shakes me slightly. “Why would you think something like that? You’re one of Jean’s closest friends. Whenever I visit him he doesn’t shut up about you.”

“Really?” I chuckle.

He nods. “Really. Although, it is mostly him complaining about how you’re incapable of making a love potion that won’t kill someone.”

“I do have a habit of doing that.”

The grip he has on my shoulder tightens a little and more sincerity fills his eyes. “But you _need_ to tell him soon. I can’t judge his reaction for you, but I think he’d appreciate it more if you told him yourself, rather than he finds out… and he _will_ eventually.”

I nod.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and I’ve realised how much I really do hate the way that I’m too scared to even tell Jean my real name. I could finally explain to him why I have to be home at sundown every evening instead of staying with him for longer, and why Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt dragged me out of Maria’s the other night.

Everything would be easier.

Although I’m going to regret it, this is for the best.

“I’ll do it. I’ll tell him today.”

 

* * *

 

Even from the other end of the field, I can tell something’s not right. The shop seems to be emitting its very own black cloud floating above it and the closer I get, the colder I become. Shadowed in black, the grim appearance of the place makes my skin crawl, yet I continue to wade through the thick, dense gloom.

Unusually, the front door has been left ajar, allowing all the chilling air to seep in. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself as tightly as I can manage. Having a roomy tunic is never helpful when it’s this cold.

Stepping through the open doorway, I instantly see Jean standing over the counter, placing tiny vials and jars into a wooden case with rusted hinges and a dull, beige interior. As I look closer, I notice several knives varying in size lined up in one section of the case, each one with sharp, jagged edges that could cut you just by looking at them. It’s a rather frightening piece of kit.

Dreary, swollen, red eyes look up at me from the case and stare blankly, glazed over and ever darkening. Skin as sickly white as mountain tops encloses his dry, chapped and swollen lips, and knotted, askew locks lie atop his usually held high head, but he keeps his posture low and closed in.

He looks like misery in its sweetest form… and it breaks my heart just by looking at him.

He speaks before I do because he knows what I’ll say.

“I’m doing house calls today.” His voice is raspy and broken, void of all emotion and he doesn’t give me another chance to speak. “It would probably be better if you didn’t come with me, so you can stay here if you want to, but I won’t force you.”

“I’ll come with you,” I blurt. There’s no way that I’m leaving him alone when he looks like this.

“I thought you might say that.” He smiles, but it’s empty and means nothing.

I really hope this isn’t my doing.

Jean nods vaguely and closes up the case, taking it in his hand and walks past me and out the front door.

Our encounter is too brief and cold for him to be feeling alright.

He doesn’t even say goodbye to Gumbie.

 

* * *

 

We’re deeper into Trost than I have ever been before. We passed the centre ages ago and the city is slowly transitioning from the bright colours and warm smells that I’m so familiar with, to cold greys that suck the very life force out of you and the pungent smell of rotting flesh.

Death fills the streets here and it’s everywhere you look. Disease corrupts your lungs and makes it impossible to breathe and those that it has latched on to sit on the sides in nothing but rags, watching Jean and I walk the streets in functional clothes and a little more meat on our bones.

I feel like a mouse being watched by hawks wanting to tear me limb from limb and it makes my gut churn from the growing anxiety.

Jean walks ahead of me in utter silence. He hasn’t said a word to me since we left the shop and I’m getting even more worried by the moment. With each step we take, he clenches onto the handle of the case even harder and keeps his body hunched over, shielding himself from the cold and the stares.

I’m bloody terrified.

I need to say something.

“Jean,” I call. He keeps walking, but I see him nod slightly. I take that as my queue to continue. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I told you – we’re doing house calls.”

I roll my eyes. He may be upset with me, but this is completely uncalled for. Blunt, moody and evasive. Those are the only emotions I’ve seen him take on all day and it’s beginning to get on my nerves.

My step quickens so I’m pacing beside him. He keeps his eyes locked on the ground and doesn’t acknowledge my presence once. “I realise that, but could you possibly be a little more descriptive?”

I think he notices the slightly edgy tone in my voice and he stops walking, still staring at the floor. I pause in front of him, trying to gain some form of eye contact, but I don’t get any.

People are beginning to stare at us even more and mutter amongst one another. I can see them covering their hands with their mouths and small children are rushed off the streets as far away from Jean and me as possible. I don’t think his reputation is viewed well here.

The longer I stand, the stronger the smell gets and it makes my toes curl. I look down to see that I’m ankle deep in charcoal coloured mush and it feels like the longer I stand, the more I sink into it.

Jean really wasn’t joking about poverty.

“Do you remember when I told you about ‘the horrors that I’ve seen?’” he asks.

Cautiously, I nod.

“Look around you,” he mumbles.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Then go back to the shop.”

It’s like a stab to the chest as he says that. I can feel my body physically curling in on itself from the puncture wound he’s made by his words.

I really _have_ done something wrong.

“I’m not leaving you here. Not when you’re—“

“Marc,” he says firmly, “you don’t want to see this, trust me.”

The street becomes desolate and dead as the last few people are rushed back into their houses. We’re left completely alone to sort out our differences and I couldn’t ask for a better situation… minus the smell.

“Jean, what’s wrong with you today?” I frown. “You’ve been grumpy all day and if I’ve done something wrong then please tell me because this is absolutely ridi—“

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Finally, he gives me eye contact and I regret it as soon as I look into his dull, lifeless eyes.

“It’s not you, Marc. It could never be you. I just…” He trails off, gnawing at his lip and making even more swollen. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs… and wraps his arms around me, the wood of the case pressing into the small of my back. “I’m sorry. You’re pretty much the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now. I just don’t want you to get upset when you see this. You care about people, Marc and this is a place where those people die.”

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I hold him a little tighter. “I understand.”

We let go of one another and the contents of the case rattle as Jean’s arms fall to his side. A faint smile spreads across his lips and while it may be small, it’s better than nothing and I’ll take him for all he has.

“Do you still want to do this?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Jean nods and hooks his free arm around my shoulder, leading me further into the darkening street.

The people we pass seem to scatter like crows as we approach them, running inside their houses and hushing their children. However, neither of us care. We’re here to work, that’s all.

Except, I have no idea what we’re actually doing.

Eventually, we arrive at an old stone house which looks as if it could crumble at any moment. The wood holding up the very foundations of the house is decomposing away little by little and the face of the tiny home is covered in cracks.

Jean knocks on the tiny door marked with a painted white cross and then we wait patiently.

A young man opens the door and squints dubiously at the two of us. I shift in my boots under his scrutinising glare and move as close to Jean as possible, who seems to be the more confident one in this situation.

“Who are you?” the man grunts.

“My name is Jean Kirschtein, and this is my apprentice, Marc. I’m the Trost witch. I understand that you called for me.”

The man scoffs, glaring at us like bugs. “I called for your mother, not you.”

“My mother is out of town so it’s either me or no one. Your choice.”

Grudgingly, the man nods, eyeing both of us as he steps aside and lets up into his home.

There’s hardly any air to breathe in here. I assume this is the kitchen as there seems to be nothing else in this room but a raging fire in the centre and some pots placed on a shelf at the very back. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling, disguising the prominent smell of… I don’t even _want_ to know what that is. In the far corner of the room a white sheet lies on the floor with a body of a teenaged boy lying on top of it. A woman (assumingly the boy’s mother) is knelt beside the sheet, feeding mouthfuls of food into his mouth.

“The witch is here,” the man grumbles and he directs us to the boy, who is thankfully breathing.

Jean and I crouch beside the mother and he sets the case out on the floor.

The mother takes one look at Jean and then turns back to her husband completely alarmed. She gets up and runs over to him, pulling him aside to where she hopes is out of our hearing range, yet I can hear every word.

“Who is _that_?” she hisses.

“The witch’s son.”

“Michael, you _know_ what the people say about him.”

“Yes, but he’s our last hope.”

Looks like we’re staying then, but that’s a lot of pressure to put on Jean. I just hope that he can’t hear them.

The boy before us slowly opens his eyes and watches Jean’s every move. He lets out a ragged breath and Jean looks up from the case with a slight smile to reassure him.

“Hello, I’m Jean, and this is Marc,” he nods, tilting his head towards me. “We’re here to help you.”

“Henry,” the boy breathes wearily.

Pressing the back of his hand to Henry’s head, Jean leans in and listens closely to the boy’s breathing. He then turns towards the muttering parents. “His head’s incredibly hot. I need you to tell me all the other symptoms he’s been having.”

The parents frown at one another for a moment, looking horrified at Jean’s choice of utensils in his case. The father murmurs something into his wife’s ear and then she steps forwards. Hesitantly, she takes another look at Jean’s case and visibly shivers. “He’s been vomiting a lot and he won’t eat or sleep. Sometimes he coughs so much that he comes up with blood and he’s just too tired to move half the time.”

Jean’s eyes light up at her explanation and he looks at me with upturned corners of his mouth. “Marc, I need you to crush some willow bark.”

I have no idea what that is, but I nod anyway and begin rummaging through Jean’s case. Whilst I do this, Jean begins to explain Henry’s condition to his parents. “By the sounds of things it’s only the flu. The willow bark should do the trick, but it will give him stomach pains—“

“Found it!” I grin, holding up the small jar labelled _Willow Bark_. Henry jolts at my sudden outburst and I shrug in apology with a sheepish smile, gritting my teeth slightly. I need to remember to bite my tongue.

With a slight glare from Jean, I take out the mortar and pestle and begin grinding the willow bark into something that can be easily swallowed.

“The stomach pains will eventually fade,” Jean continues, “but I recommend that you give him plenty of rest and feed him regularly. They should only last a day or two.”

The parents nod doubtfully.

Once Jean has checked that I’ve crushed the bark enough, I hand the mortar to Henry.

A loud slam bellows through the room and hurried, panicked footsteps sprint over the wood. Jean and I snap our heads around in fright to see another man who can’t be much older than me storming straight towards the parents.

“Where’s the witch?” he roars.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jean mumbles and the man’s glaring eyes fall onto him. I can feel him tense next to me. I look back at Henry who has successfully downed the willow bark and I beckon Jean to move away from him. He nods and the two of us stand up slowly with our hands raised in surrender. We shuffle into the centre of the room on the opposite side of the fire and stare at the man on the other side of the flames watching our every mannerism. “I’m the witch,” Jean sighs, letting his arms flop and I do the same.

The man’s eyes glow in the flames and slowly, he walks around the fire and latches onto Jean’s shoulder. “You are going to come with me and you are going to help me. Now,” he growls.

“Why should I? You didn’t say please.”

We’re doomed.

I glance around the room, trying not to get involved in the situation next to me. Jean’s just dug his own grave and I have no idea how he’s going to get out of it.

The parents are now huddled around their son, shielding him from the issue Jean’s now made and the man’s grip on Jean’s shoulder just keeps getting harder.

I need to do something.

“We’ll help you.” Jean cracks his head towards me and stares at me, stunned. “Jean, we can just give Henry the rest of the willow bark and then we can go help. There’s no need for conflict.”

The two of them glower at one another for a moment, then Jean turns to me and all I can do is smile soothingly.

I like to think that I know what I’m doing. In reality, I have no idea. This could be suicide, but I want to help as many people as possible and this man seems desperate.

Sighing, he lets go of Jean’s shoulder and nods in apology. With a scowl, Jean rubs his arm, grumbling as he walks over to the family still huddled in the corner.

Whilst Jean explains how to use the willow bark, I stay by the fire with the man and try and find out as much as I can. “What’s happened?” I ask.

He seems to relax, then pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s breaking out in a cold sweat and he’s trembling.

To see someone that I’ve just met turn from the most terrifying person I’ve ever seen to a quivering figure, it sends chills through me and it only makes me want to help him more.

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, I see his eyes begin to glaze over. “My wife’s just given birth… and we can’t stop the bleeding.”

I don’t even know if Jean’s ever done this before. I can’t imagine him being in a situation like that. He probably wouldn’t even _want_ to be that situation.

This man doesn’t need a witch, he needs a doctor.

I don’t know if Jean can do this, but I believe in him and we can at least try.

 

* * *

 

Jean’s held the same grim expression ever since he was told what I’ve gotten the two of us in to. The condition of the mother is apparently much worse than we expected.

During birth, the child got stuck and wasn’t moving. No matter how much the family members tried, the baby stayed still. So, in a state of panic, the husband cut the baby from the mother’s womb to save it. However, you’re only supposed to do that when the mother is dying or dead. Now our problem is that the mother won’t stop bleeding and is in fact dying.

Apparently, the nearest doctor is busy and Jean and I were in the area, that’s why we have the lucky job of doing this and not someone else.

No pressure on Jean and me then.

I feel terrible. I wish I’d actually heard what the husband had to say before I got Jean and me up to our knees in this mess.

I’m absolutely terrified about how this is going to turn out, and if Jean wasn’t in a bad mood with me earlier, he certainly is now.

We’re taken into another house and it’s deathly silent. A crowd of about five other members of the family all covered in blood, stand over on one side of the room, staring at us with eyes mixed with hope, fear and horror.

The room is practically the same layout as the house we were in before, yet a more coppery smell fills the air… and something tells me it’s not from the pots and pans on the shelves.

We pause in front of a crooked flight of stairs and the husband nods solemnly. “She’s up there,” he murmurs.

The further upwards the stairs progress, the darker it gets. It’s almost too quiet in this house and I can’t bear to think of what’s up there.

Handing me the case, Jean storms up the stairs first and I follow behind him obediently.

I’m really not prepared for what I see.

The room is barren aside from a tiny bed placed against one of the walls in the room with a small basket placed near it. On the bed lies a woman with nothing but a thin, white, blood-stained sheet draped over her withering body. There’s blood everywhere around her and it sticks to her skin and black hair like death itself, marking its territory as if to claim her for its own.

I almost drop the case on the floor at the sight of her. She’s so weak that she doesn’t even acknowledge us as we walk over to her.

Brown eyes flitter open and close every now and then, but that’s the only sign of life from her that we receive.

“I-I think he said her name was Mina,” I stammer. The woman shifts slightly and more blood seeps through the sheet.

Jean nods. “M-Mina? We-we’re going to help you.” A shaky exhale leaves her with an indefinite nod and Jean kneels down next to the bed. “We need to hurry,” he says.

I place the case at the end of the bed and open it up, hoping that he’ll tell me what to do next, but he doesn’t. He stares at her in fear, his hands shaking.

“Jean, what do we need to do?” I hope that reminding him why we’re here will kick him back into his usual self, but he looks scared. I don’t think he’s ever done this before.

With the upmost caution, Jean pulls away the sheet to expose the woman’s body.

Acidic, hot bile rises in my throat as my eyes fixate on the extent of her wounds and I cover my mouth to stop the choking.

Now _I’m_ shaking.

The gash is all the way down her abdomen, almost ripping her in half and exposing red bumps and lumps that I don’t want to know what they are. Thick, red blood is slowly seeping heavily out of the wound and onto her body and the sheets beneath her. There’s so much carnage spilt over her body that I can’t tell where her legs start and her chest ends. It’s all over her hands too from desperate attempts to stop the bleeding that have all failed and now the life has been drained out of her.

Jean takes a deep breath to compose himself and stands up, taking over my place by the case. “Marc, we’re going to have to sew her up.”

This isn’t going to be easy. The wound is so deep that I don’t think a needle and thread will be able to hold it together, the wound may also be infected and she’s lost so much blood that I don’t know if she’ll recover for a while even if we _do_ succeed.

I turn to Jean again and he’s clenching his fists so hard that they’ve become red and sore. Nails digging into his skin, he closes his eyes and tries to decide exactly what we have to do. I think he’s come to the same realisation.

We need to hurry. She’s losing more and more blood the longer we stand here and she’s getting weaker.

Trembling, Jean rummages through the case and pulls out a needle and thread. “Marc, I need you to grind together some…” The woman on the bed exhales unevenly and her limbs begin to quiver. We don’t have much time.

Jean panics, running his hand through his hair and breathing erratically. “Marc, I don’t know what to do,” he whimpers.

“Yes, you do.”

Wide, panicked eyes stare back at me and he shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “No, I don’t.”

I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, trembling myself, knowing that we really are running out of time. “You do. I believe in you, Jean. You said that we needed to sew the wound. What else?”

His lips begin to tremor and he stares at the vast number of jars placed in his case, confusion and panic slowly taking over his entire body. He takes another look at Mina and she stares at him with hopeful, watering eyes. She can barely speak.

At the sight of her deteriorating form, something inside him kicks into action and he turns to me with a determined look in his eyes. “Devil’s claw and ginger should ease the pain.” He lets go of me, taking position with the needle and thread by Mina’s side.

I nod and follow Jean’s orders. Whilst I find the devil’s claw and ginger, Jean attempts to soothe Mina who’s too weak to even wail about the pain. “Mina, I’m going to sew up your wound. It _will_ hurt, but my apprentice is making some painkiller for you as fast as he can.”

Faintly, she nods and Jean stands over her, the needle poised over the point of her wound.

I can’t bear to look.

An ear shattering scream pierces through the silence and I keep my eyes locked on the case. There’s hardly any ginger left in the jar, but it’ll have to do.

I don’t think I’ve ever ground something as hard as I am right now. I’m putting all my strength into this and the more I hear Mina’s screams and Jean’s calming tones, the faster I work.

I know I’m going to have to look up eventually and see what Jean’s doing to her.

My stomach doing backflips, I look up and my vision becomes clouded with red. Jean hasn’t even made it halfway up the wound and she just keeps screaming each time he pulls the thread tighter to hold her bloodied skin together. His hands are soaked in red and clear droplets are rolling down his cheeks as he tries to calm her, but with no avail.

“It’s done,” I shudder and Jean grabs the bowl out of my hands, tipping the contents into Mina’s awaiting mouth. She swallows, shuddering and Jean looks to me with red, swollen eyes.

“Hold the wound together for me,” he orders.

More bile rises in my throat and regrettably nodding, I place myself on the other side of the bed and press the two laps of skin on Mina’s stomach together. She screams again and more blood soaks out of the laceration, coating the tips of my fingers.

We’re both in a state of panic now. The painkiller hasn’t kicked in and we’re nowhere near closing up the wound. Neither of us know what to do.

We stare at one another, hoping that one of us has an answer. But we don’t. So we keep going.

The skin now slightly tighter, Jean pierces the needle into Mina’s stomach and her cries make my heart twinge.

Then another cry joins Mina’s and Jean and I freeze.

“He left the fucking baby in the room,” Jean breathes, barely audible over the mother and child’s screams.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see tiny hands reaching out of the basket on the floor, begging for attention and comfort.

Never in my life have I felt my chest ache this much and I can feel tears running over my skin. This child’s entire lifetime with its mother is in our hands and we’re both clueless.

What have I done?

The baby screeches, snapping the both of us out of our revulsion and Jean pulls on the thread. Mina’s screams leave me entirely numb and just echo in my head. I can’t stop my tears and neither can Jean. I don’t think either of us can last for much longer.

“Will you please calm that _fucking_ baby,” Jean sobs. I know he doesn’t mean to be harsh. He’s panicking and is being irrational. It’s what anyone would do.

I let go of the wound and it opens up more, provoking a frustrated hiss from Jean’s lips as he tries to hold it together himself. I freeze, wondering if he’s changed his mind, but he nods for me to continue.

Wiping the blood off my hands, I crouch over the wailing basket and peer inside. Wrapped in white linen a pink skinned, tufty haired child lies in the basket, its face shrivelled and screwed up from the screaming. My chest starts throbbing again as it reaches out to me, seeking some kind of comfort. I allow it to wrap its hand around my finger and I’m astonished at the mere size of it. Every part of the child is tiny, down to its curling tongue.

“Marc, I said calm it down, not hold hands with it!” Jean yells over Mina’s cries.

I remember my initial command and attempt to soothe the child below me. Its shrieks are spine shattering and the louder its mother cries, the more my ears ache from the both of them. I lean in closer, hushing softly, but it doesn’t listen to me.

I don’t even want to look back and see how Jean’s doing because I know it isn’t good. I can _hear_ him crying as he tries to save her life.

Curling my arm underneath its body, I lift the child into my arms and press its body against my shoulder, keeping it turned away from the carnage on the bed.

“ _Under the lime tree_  
On the heather,  
Where we had shared a place of rest,  
Still you may find there,  
Lovely together,  
Flowers crushed and grass down-pressed.  
Beside the forest in the vale,  
Tándaradéi,   
Sweetly sang the nightingale…” I sing into the material of its tiny body, dampening the linen from my tears.

Mina’s cries begin to die down by the time Jean is halfway through sewing up her wound. I’m hoping – being the optimist that I am – that the painkiller has kicked in, but her eyes are no longer focussed and Jean’s panicking more than ever.

“ _I came to meet him_  
At the green:  
There was my truelove come before.  
Such was I greeted —  
Heaven's Queen! —  
That I am glad for evermore.  
Had he kisses? A thousand some:  
Tándaradéi,   
See how red my mouth's become…”

“Mina!” Jean yells, patting her cheek to get her to focus. She breathes shakily, wrapping her hand around Jean’s wrist. He shakes her off. “No, don’t do that! I’m going to help you!” He continues working, only causing minor grunts to leave her, but the child keeps screaming in my ear.

“ _There he had fashioned_  
For luxury   
A bed from every kind of flower.  
It sets to laughing   
Delightedly  
Whoever comes upon that bower;  
By the roses well one may,  
Tándaradéi,   
Mark the spot my head once lay…”

I hold the child closer to me, stroking the back of its head with my thumb and I watch as Jean bursts into tears.

Mina clutches Jean’s hand again and smiles at him.

This is it. It’s over.

“Thank you,” she breathes. Slowly, she closes her eyes and her body is claimed by the shadows, leaving it limp and lifeless.

Jean drops the needle and thread and he becomes speechless. He freezes for a moment and the only sound in the room is the sound of the child’s cries that echo in the air, feeding the loss. Jean breaks down, sobbing into the mattress and clawing at his head as the husband runs up the stairs and looks onto the scene before him.

The worst part is that I can pinpoint the exact moment where I see his heart break.

I hold the child tighter, knowing this feeling growing in my chest. It’s the familiar sense of hurt, loss and loneliness.

I know it all too well.

“ _If any knew_  
He lay with me   
May God forbid, for shame I'd die.  
What did he do?  
May none but he  
Ever be sure of that — and I,  
And one extremely tiny bird,  
Tándaradéi,   
Who will, I think, not say a word.”

 

* * *

 

Jean could barely walk on the way back to the shop. I ended up carrying him most of the way because he just wouldn’t stop crying. He kept his hands clutched onto me the whole way, keeping me close for support and comfort.

He hasn’t said a word to me either. He blames himself – I can tell.

We didn’t even make it to the shop before we both felt so numb and empty that we collapsed in the field, huddling close to one another to keep warm. We’ve stayed like that since, listening to each other’s breathing – Jean’s erratic and wheezing and mine too slow for comfort.

“It’s my fault,” he breathes against my collarbone. “If I’d just been quicker…”

“Shhh.” I pull him in closer to me and hold him against my chest, cradling him like a child. “There was nothing we could do. Even her husband said that.”

“Didn’t you see the look on his face when we left? He thinks I’m a monster.”

“Do _you_ think you’re a monster?” I ask.

He does nothing for a moment, listening intently to my slow heartbeat and then I feel him nod, burrowing deeper into me.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Jean.” I reach up behind him and stroke the shorter, darker hairs at the back of his neck. “I think you’re very brave and I think you did the right thing back there.”

“But I didn’t save her,” he mumbles into my tunic.

“But you still did the right thing. You didn’t know what to do, Jean, so you did what you thought was best. Most people would have run away from a situation like that, but you didn’t. To me, that’s the one of the bravest things someone can do. You’re no monster; you’re human just like everyone else.”

The pressure Jean’s placed on my chest is lifted and he stares up at me with those same red eyes that I’ve seen throughout the day. Even through the tears, I can still see bright amber sparks shining back at me and I know that Jean’s still there, thriving and living. Faintly, he smiles. “Thank you, Marc.”

He shuffles a little so that we’re face to face, chest to chest, holding onto one another for dear life. Then he leans in a little further and the tips of our noses begin to touch. I smile at him warmly as I feel his heart racing against me and I feel mine quicken too.

Hidden in the grass, the wind runs over us without a care, leaving us in complete peace and warmth. I’ve never been this close to him before and I realise that I’m scanning his face, trying to find out something about him that I’ve never seen before. There’s still so much to learn about him and _from_ him, I don’t want this to end.

Jean’s fingers hook around the cord of my necklace and takes it out from under my tunic. He smiles a distant smile and holds the pendant in his palm. “You’re still wearing it?”

“I never take it off.”

Jean flips me onto my back and lies on top of me, staring back at me with a soft grin. Calloused fingertips caress my cheeks and he leans into me again, pressing a feather light kiss against my lips.

Just that one tiny touch releases a spark in me that keeps on growing… and I realise that I want more.

When neither of us react, Jean relaxes on top of me and leans in again, letting his lips lock with mine.

I respond immediately, surprising myself and I melt into him. The caress of his lips is so much softer and caring than I ever expected and I just want more.

Each kiss he presses against me is more passionate than the last and his hands wander all over my body. From running his fingers through my hair, to gripping my waist, he explores every part of me that he can reach.

I’m actually… _enjoying_ this. I shouldn’t, but I do. The very feeling of being wanted and being touched like this flows through me and it makes me feel lighter than air.

I don’t even care if this is illegal, I like it. I _like_ Jean.

Wait. No, no, no. This is _illegal_ … and I’m the _prince_. If someone found out about this, I can’t even bear to think what they’d do to Jean.

No. What would Jean do to _me_ if he found out who I really was? I’ve lied to him this whole time and now we’re doing _this_. He’d kill me.

How is this even going to work? I want this – I really do – but one day I’ll have to rule the kingdom and I can’t have Jean by my side.

The kisses Jean’s pressing against me slowly become bittersweet as the realisation hits me all too hard.

I’m the prince. I have lied to Jean for three weeks about my identity. If someone found out about this, Jean would be killed. Even if no one does find out, one day I’ll leave to become king and that’ll be the end of it.

However I look at it, there’s no positive outcome.

I can’t do this. I can’t hurt Jean.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him and sit up. Jean’s expression turns grim and he sits next to me, worrying at his lip.

“Marc?”

I shudder. It’s not even my own name that he knows me by. I want to tell him who I am, but I can’t. Not after that.

“I can’t do this.” I can feel my eyes swelling as I say those words. I don’t want to go, but I’m so confused and conflicted that I… I need some time.

“What do you mean?” Jean asks, worried. “Marc, what’s wrong.”

I despise that name. Jean kissed Marc, not Marco. Marco doesn’t exist in Jean’s world.

“I’m so sorry, Jean,” I sniff, wiping away the droplets at the corners of my eyes.

I can’t even bear to look at him as I stand up and start walking away.

I need to go home. I need to sort my head out. I need to get as far away as possible. I need to protect him.

Something grabs my wrist and tugs me around again and Jean’s standing there with blank eyes and trembling lips. “Marc, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I just can’t do this.” I watch in agony as Jean’s face falls and his hand goes limp by his side.

_I don’t want to do this._

I don’t even have the guts to tell him why I’m doing this.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” I whimper and before I get too attached and my chest aches more than I can cope with, I run, leaving him far behind me where he’ll be safe.

I just need to sort my head out.

 

* * *

 

Grasping at the windowsill, I pull myself into my room and collapse onto the floor with no motivation to move.

I cried all the way home. Just thinking about the way he looked at me when I left him ripped my heart out of my chest and it’s all my fault.

I don’t even know what I want anymore. I want to be with Jean, but no matter how many routes there are, none of them end well.

In the end I’ll leave Trost to become king and Jean can’t come with me. I’ll be forced to marry a wealthy woman, she will become queen and then we’ll have children. If I have a son, then he’ll be king when I die and the cycle starts again.

My entire life has been planned out for me and I _actually_ thought I could change it.

I’m trapped and I’ve ruined my only chance of ever tasting freedom and affection ever again.

I don’t know what to do anymore.

A sharp knock rattles on my door. I can’t even pull myself off the ground to go answer it.

“Marco? It’s Bertholdt. I saw you come back in, are you alright?”

I don’t answer him. I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity because I’ve messed up e _verything_.

When I don’t answer, I hear the door open. I thought he might. He worries about me too much.

Blearily, I glance at him and he shakes his head solemnly when he sees me on the floor like a beached whale. Sighing, he sits cross-legged next to me and raises an eyebrow, hoping for an explanation.

“You’re back early,” he says.

I nod.

“Are you going to talk to me about it? I know I’m not Petra, but I’m better than nothing, right?”

Screwing my eyes shut as they begin to heat up again, I nod and Bertholdt pulls me upright. I wipe my eyes and face him properly.

I know I can tell him these kinds of things. I suppose he’s used to them.

Bertholdt’s been training to be in the Elite Guard since he was twelve, so we’ve known each other for quite some time. I remember that just a few days into his training I told my father that I was in love with Bertholdt and that I wanted to marry him. Of course, then I didn’t realise that was illegal and my father dismissed my comment completely.

If only he could see me now.

“Jean kissed me,” I mumble. Glancing back at him, thinking that he’d be shocked, I’m met by a knowing look that I’ve seen too many times before.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” he chuckles. “The question is why you’re so upset about it.” He nudges me slightly, making me smile a little and I shake my head.

“What do you mean you’re not surprised?”

“I mean that I knew it would happen eventually. You do talk about him _all the time_. I think we’ve both known for a while that this would happen.”

And something deep inside me tells me that he’s right.

I shrug half-heartedly. “But now I’ve messed everything up because I know that it can’t work out.”

“Of course it can work out, Marco. Do you have any idea how many kings have had male lovers?”

The word ‘lovers’ makes me cringe slightly from embarrassment. I can feel my cheeks becoming hotter and reddening.

“We’ll find a way, I promise,” he says firmly, gripping my shoulder.

Although there is hope in his eyes, I can’t help but dismiss it. I can’t go back to him, not after what I did to him.

Shrugging him off, I get up and fall onto my bed face first, sliding my hands under my pillow and burying my face in it. “But I can’t go back, Bertholdt. You should have seen the way he looked at me. He…” I stop as something sharp and jagged runs across my hand.

I move again and the same feeling runs over my skin.

“Marco?” Bertholdt frowns, sitting on the edge of my bed.

I grab the jagged object and pull it out from under the material and my stomach does backflips when I open my fingers.

The hag stone that Ymir gave me has split itself down the middle in an virtually perfect line, shattering it into two almost equal pieces.

“What’s that?” Bertholdt asks.

I don’t say a word.

This is bad. If a hag stone is broken it is thought to have protected a life. And yet, in my palm in this very moment lies a broken hag stone. _My_ hag stone.

Despite the protective circle around my room and my necklace, something managed to get into my room last night and tried to kill me in my sleep.

Something’s out to get me and I don’t know what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that actually using blood in magic is perfectly normal and isn't associated with black magic. That spell is also just your regular protection spell. I didn't really fancy looking up black magic, so I found a normal one instead.
> 
> Basically, I like to think that this is the turning point of the story and shit's about to go down so it should hopefully get slightly more interesting from here.
> 
> For those who were wondering [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzXv7I-Zav8) is the song that Marco was singing. It's in German, but you get the jist...  
> Also, the translation I used may not be brilliant (or it may be completely wrong, I have no idea) but it's all I could find.
> 
> Next chapter: Jean needs to grow the fuck up.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	7. Your First Light, My Eventide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have that much to say about this chapter if I'm perfectly honest with you. It's not really all that exciting either, but I guess that from this point on things will start to change quite a fair bit.  
> Unfortunately, there is hardly any Marco in this chapter (I'm so sorry!), but there is some Armin, Eren and a bit of Levi.  
> No warnings for this particular chapter (unless you're not too keen on strangling).
> 
> Enjoy!

It feels like a wolf eating away at my chest, getting closer and closer to ripping my barely beating heart out. It’s threatening to devour me, leaving only mere scraps behind as proof that I once existed. It’s laughing at me, mocking me… but I _want_ it to. I _want_ to become those scraps that no one will ever care for. It’ll certainly save myself and everyone else around me a hell of a lot of trouble. Besides, who would want leftovers?

It _hurts_. Everything hurts and I have no motivation to move. Lungs now collapsed lie broken and heaving in my ribcage and my body feels heavier than ever before. I don’t _want_ to move.

I’m pathetic – I really am. After all, deep down I _knew_ this would happen. I’ve been rejected before – plenty of times – but not like this. This is different.

Why do I even fucking bother? The one time I actually _allow_ myself to get close to someone and generate genuine _feelings_ for them, this shit happens. I always used to tell people about the “curse” on my family to scare them, so no one would get close to me. But now I’m more convinced than ever that it’s true. I can’t fall in love without causing someone harm. And I never will.

I’m a laughing stock. Humiliation follows me everywhere I go and it grins in my eyes every time I catch my deteriorating reflection. I look like shit. I _smell_ like shit. And he’s not coming back.

Still the wolf tears away at my skin.

But that’s the thing – other people can’t see the wolf like I can. To them, I’m just in a shittier mood than usual. Hell, I scared off a customer yesterday after telling her to “hurry the fuck up”. Thinking about it, I haven’t actually seen anyone worth commenting on since yesterday when Marc left… ran… when he ran away from me.

It’s probably a good thing. I’m in one of those places where I just want to be alone. It’s no one’s fault – it’s just me, yet if someone asks me what’s wrong or if they come anywhere near me… everything crumbles and I feel like screaming. I just need to be left alone. I feel washed out and emotionless, like a stone statue there to be seen, but not touched or it will disintegrate under your skin and benevolent words.

It’s just me. Everything is me. The reason I feel like this… is me.

I couldn’t save Mina’s life because I’m inexperienced. The people think I’m a monster because I’ve let them for such a long time… Marc ran away because I kissed him.

 _Me_. That’s all this is.

I am a monster. And when does a monster stop being a monster? When you love it. But that’s not going to happen. I _can’t_ without putting someone else in danger. With this in mind, I’m constantly on the edge of craving another person’s touch, but running when someone gets too close.

This time Marc’s done it for me. I guess I should thank him since he has saved me a lot of trouble... by trouble, I mean him not speaking to me for months like Eren did.

…

This is stupid. _I’m_ stupid. It’s over and that’s the end of it. It’s over and I’m alone again. Although this time, I think it’s going to stay that way.

 

* * *

 

Silence fills the shop like a cold winter; deathly still and unmoving. I’m beginning to believe that the sun is too much of a coward to show its face anymore. The once beautiful, shining summers of Trost, lush with thriving wilderness and singing trees have slowly, fatally collapsed into raging winds and crying rain that drench us day after day, fouling everything in its path.

Trost is dying. The entire _kingdom_ is dying, and no one knows what to do about it.

Hanji told me that I’m the one who’s supposed to stop this darkness from taking over, but as the days pass and the nights grow longer, I’m beginning to think that she’s wrong. How the fuck am I supposed to stop _this_?

Glancing out the window, I wince as the sky reads my thoughts and wraths even harder against the glass panes that are meant to keep it the fuck away from me. It’s enjoying this. It loves toying with me and I can tell. Thanks to them, nights have been getting worse for me. They drag out into long, fiery torture chambers with only the sound of anguish ringing in my ears, just to remind me how alone I really am. Despite the familiar, painful faces I see every night, I know I really am alone. It’s the way they look at me. It’s like I’m a ghost to them and they can no longer see me. They see right through me and I don’t exist anymore. I’m no longer a part of this world.

Something falls off one of the shelves, clanging as it impacts with the hard ground and I come to it again, seeing that I’m alone. No Gumbie. No Hanji. No Marc. Just me.

I’m fine, though. Why wouldn’t I be? After the little “pep-talk” I gave myself yesterday, I think I’m going to be alright. I just need to distance myself for a little while and (as much as I hate to say it) focus on my work. Another Mina situation is the last thing I want, so I may as well dedicate my time to learning how to save people, instead of admiring the way Marc’s hair parts so evenly and how ridiculous he actually looks; or the constellations mapped out over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and how each day I can find a new pattern in them; or how he scratches the back of his neck when he’s—

Stop it.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Shaking my head furiously, I tremor away all the memories I have of him and my vision clears, taking in the sight of the shop. Everything is still.

I leave my perch behind the counter and wander between the shelves to find the object that fell earlier. I don’t see a thing.

Great. It probably rolled under one of the shelves.

As I’m scanning the floor a cold rush breezes over me and I jolt upright. My chest heaves and my eyes flick around me. All the doors and windows are firmly shut, the storm outside no longer raging, and an eerie silence fills the shop.

Just when I was convinced that things couldn’t get any worse, they come like they always do.

They don’t want me to feel like I’m getting better. The very moment I lighten up, they come to remind me that I _can’t_ be alright. I will _never_ be alright.

This has happened almost every day for the last few weeks, always before Marc arrives – never after. They don’t want him to know. They’d probably hurt him if I said anything.

Small, still voices creep through the cracks in the walls and bring the shadows with them, toying with me even more. It was only a matter of time before they would. I think they’re monitoring me; reading my thoughts so they can pick the perfect moment to come and ruin me.

They’re clearer than ever now and I watch as they curl around the wood of the shelves and distort the bright colours of the vials placed on them. Black mist coats the floor of the shop, reminding me of a marshland, and settles there as more snake in. They’re everywhere.

Needle-like wisps tighten around my wrists and I do nothing. It’s routine. It’s nothing. Pinpricks press harder into my skin and I stand utterly still in my place, staring blankly at the tendrils curling around my ankles and meandering over my shoulders, tickling lightly at my neck.

I don’t even notice as the black incarcerates my throat, pressing down on my windpipe and squeezing the air out of me. I don’t even have a second to react until I’m rendered almost useless and the shadow’s grip is too firm.

 _This_ hasn’t happened before.

Air catches in my throat and I can feel my muscles begin to strain from the pressure burning down on me. My head’s spinning. I’m choking.

I stay still. I can no longer feel my limbs attached to my body and as my vision clouds – I can’t even tell if I’m standing or not. I can barely move without my legs turning into mush.

Wheezing, I grab onto one of the shelves, attempting to keep myself upright as the life slowly drains out of me. I try to shake the shadows off, but they stay clasped to my skin, squeezing even harder. Gasping for air, I stumble back towards the counter where my knife is (see, I have learnt my lesson) and grab its hilt, clenching it in my hand with the little strength I have left. I strike (flop) the knife downwards onto the shadows around my wrist, but the blade falls right through the gloom and collides with my skin. The blow is so weak that it doesn’t even break past the barrier of my skin and it just falls out of my hand and onto the floor. My blood is rushing to other places that are more important than to aid my failed attempt of an escape, trying desperately to keep me alive.

Maybe this really _is_ it? What if I’m _supposed_ to die now?

There’s no way I can get these things off me. It’s hopeless. Besides, it’s not like I have any use left. I’m spent. Even if I do get out of this, I still have to find a way to stop them in the future. There’s no way I can do that.

I’m dying, I’m useless and I’m alone.

There is no way out of this. There is no good outcome.

There never was one.

But what would Marc say?

Jolting forwards like my backside has just received a major kicking, my common sense takes control of my movements and pretty much tells me that I’m a fucking idiot. I’m _allowing_ the darkness to win. And I know why.

I’m not fucking fine. I get it. Being rejected fucking _hurts_ and I miss him. I miss him just being here with me and fucking up love potions so badly that I yell at him for ages. I miss how he says sorry to fucking _everything_ in his own endearing way. I miss those encouraging words he said to me before I kissed him, and the way his soft lips brush over mine as delicate as a rose.

I can _still_ hear him.

_You’re no monster; you’re human just like everyone else._

I’m human. I’m _allowed_ to feel like this. It’s just the way he’s making me feel is what’s making me think irrationally.

No, it’s not him. It’s _me_.

Whilst I’m having this sudden epiphany, I almost forget about the black coil tightening around my neck that’s, basically, killing me.

I don’t really fancy dying today. I’ve still got shit to do. Even if I don’t have Marc anymore, I still have Gumbie. And where will he go if I’m dead? I’m not going to let the others look after him – they’ll kill him. Especially Eren. Just, no.

Jean, you’re being strangled to death by shadows. Stop digressing.

Right. I’m dying. Sure.

My head goes into panic overdrive as my eyes focus on the black tendrils surrounding me, getting darker and stronger with each passing moment. My hands begin to grapple against the pressure. Strangled chokes wheeze out of me as I stumble into the centre of the shop, digging my nails into the dense black and I double over, gasping for air.

I’m starting to see white. Fuck.

Adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream and I yell, my hands now clenching onto whatever they can find first. Palms becoming red raw, I pull the shadows off me for a fraction of a moment, just enough time to breathe. And then they smother me again, this time harder than ever before.

Fuck it. I’m going to die. I’m never trusting myself to give pep-talks ever again.

This is it. Even if I do get rid of the shit around my neck, that does nothing to help the situation which is currently crawling up my legs in spirals, edging further up my body.

I look into the sunlight now shining in through the glass window, beckoning me to come closer. It’s calling to me as my body begins to grow weak and my lungs have given up entirely.

In what I think are my final moments, I see a glowing fire spread out in front of me, wind whirling and raven hair twisting with it. Forest green drapes over him in a majestic cape and he stands there, back turned to me, taller and prouder than ever. October eyes turn to face me and he smiles.

My eyes widen as his comforting, familiar face sees mine and I stand there numb and broken, whilst the shadows take over. His smile is the only relief I have as I die. His smile is the _only_ relief I have whilst I die. Deep down, something flutters.

I screw my eyes shut and pray to whatever’s out there for a fucking miracle.

_I can’t die yet. I need to see him smile one last time._

A muffled bang echoes in my ears and a blurred figure stands in the doorway. Incoherent calls of my name ring out and the shadows drop me like a toy, disappearing into nothingness and snickering amongst themselves. I don’t know _why_ they’re laughing – they haven’t won just yet.

I fall flat on my face, winded and breathless, choking for air and waiting for reality to bring me back to life. Comforting hands run along my back, rubbing in slow circles, and in my disorientation, I murmur. “Marc?” It’s the first thing to leave my mouth in a wheezing, inaudible gasp. The second something slightly comprehensible leaves me, I realise that I actually haven’t quite recovered from nearly dying (for the second time this month), and I start choking again.

“No, Jean,” a familiar voice soothes. “It’s Armin.”

“Ar—“ Choking, I cut myself off and curl into my chest, turning into a tight ball.

Lying there, breathing like I’ve lost both of my lungs is the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. I didn’t even have anyone to help me like I did last time.

Basically, Armin’s a fucking gift from the heavens. Heavens that seem to be watching me.

Maybe it’s not my time to leave this earth just yet. Like I said – I still have shit to do.

 

* * *

 

Once I’ve regained my breath, Armin takes me into the kitchen with my arm hooked around his neck in an effort to stay upright. Slowly, he settles me down on the rug, my head still spinning, and sits opposite me.

At first he says nothing, but sits there silently, watching my every move and judging when the appropriate moment to start interrogating me will be. He hasn’t said anything about the shadows, so I’m hoping that he didn’t see them, which would save me a lot of explaining.

The same, calm expression is spread across his almost child-like face as he watches me, yet I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. But the thing about Armin is that you can never tell what he’s thinking. He could be smiling wide and bright, but actually stressing about the stupidest things on the inside. That’s just what he’s like – he doesn’t want to inconvenience or worry anyone else. That’s the way he’s always been.

Not quite sure myself as to whether I’m capable of speech, I clear my throat and Armin blinks slowly, still watching me. It’s now verging the edge of fucking creepy.

“What?” I frown, a small cough tearing through my gullet as I breathe in.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just worried about you.”

How blunt of him.

Wrapping my arms around myself sheepishly, I dodge the rightly concerned look he’s giving me. Although, I won’t tell him he’s right to be worried about me; I can’t put him in harm’s way.

My lungs begin to function properly.

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

Liar, liar.

The awkward feeling that he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying creeps through me as he sighs solemnly. He doesn’t say any more about it, though.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask.

“Just thought I’d visit you. It’s been a while and I managed to escape for a moment. I can’t stay for long, though. They’ll realise I’m gone soon.”

I nod.

Quiet slowly settles like dust between the two of us and I _know_ that I need to thank him – I just don’t know how to do it, or if he even knows what he did.

Too many people have been saving my life recently, and it’s beginning to piss me off. Sort of.

Defencelessness seems to be my new best friend in this day and age and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s pretty ego crippling when you can’t even save yourself. First vampires that are half my size, and now shadows that intend to kill me. Whatever will be next?

Knowing my luck, I won’t even die what everyone calls a “hero’s death”. I’ll probably die of something boring like _disease_ or _getting run over by a horse._ Then I’ll just cease to exist like everyone else before me and no one will remember Jean Kirschtein, the witch’s son. I’ll become a distant memory in a few people’s hearts, but one day they’ll die too. We all will.

Jeez, I’m pessimistic today. And I’m digressing again.

So, Armin, my blond-haired saviour (although he doesn’t even know it), _thank you_.

Now I just have the issue of how to cut short this… quietness.

Think fast, Jeanny.

“How’s Marc?”

_Anything but that, you dumbfuck._

“He’s fine,” Armin nods.

Of course he is. Now that he’s away from me, everything’s alright again. My existence is no longer important to him and he can get on with his life, following the prince around like a shadow.

“Where is he?”

Stop it. You’re not supposed to care. He’s _gone_.

Armin frowns and leans in closer to me, pursing his lips. “Jean, it’s Saturday.”

“What about it?”

His hands clasp together. “The prince’s birthday celebrations started today and he turns nineteen tomorrow.”

“Whoopee!” I shrill dryly, waving my hands in the air just to add extra emphasis on the fact that I honestly don’t give a single fucking shit.

“Jean, Marco has to stay at the palace and take care of some things, that’s why—“

“Ar, you just called him Marco.”

Armin pauses. For a moment he looks like a child who’s been caught stealing, with wide eyes and tense posture, but then he relaxes, shrugging lightly. “Slip of my tongue,” he says calmly. “There’s someone else at the palace called Marco. I often get the two of them mixed up – they’re pretty similar.”

I think nothing else of it.

I’m surprised that Armin’s talking about Marc so calmly and not shouting at me for being an idiot. He hasn’t brought up the kiss once and I’m starting to think that…

“Wait. Did…” Armin’s eyebrow quirks upwards as I stutter and I regain myself in haste. “Has Marc said anything to you?”

“About what?” Running a hand through my hair, I look at him remorsefully. The instant my eyes meet his, his mouth turns agape. “Jean,” he says sternly, “what did you do?”

“He honestly hasn’t told you?”

“He’s been in his room for days. I’ve hardly seen him and he’s only really been speaking to Bertholdt.” Then the realisation hits him like he’s just been slapped on the cheek. “Jean, what did you _do_ to him? Are you the reason he’s been in his room and not coming to see you?”

Grouching, I shrug. “Maybe.”

“ _Jean_ —“

“I kissed him.”

 _“Really?”_ Armin sighs disappointedly.

“I know, I know. Dick move – I get it.”

“You can’t just go around kissing people! Why? Did you want to sleep with him or something?” he whispers harshly like it’s some big secret that I kissed the prince’s man-servant… Actually, I suppose it is since two men being together is illegal and we’d be tortured for our “sins” if anyone found out.

“No! I wasn’t even _thinking_ about sleeping with him, Ar. I just… wanted to. I wanted to be with him. A-and I feel like shit for it and I hope he doesn’t think I’m a _complete_ dick because of it.”

The only response I get out of him is a quiet sigh whilst he twiddles his fingers, deciding what to say to me. Peering over his shoulder, he catches the light of the sun slowly sinking further into the horizon. The sky will erupt in colour soon. He decides not to reply to me at all. In the way of conversation, it’s not one that he’d ever want to be involved with. “I need to go,” he says. “I’m meant to still be at the palace.” Thought so. There’s no way that his superiors would let him out this early – especially on an occasion like this. Or maybe he’s just pissed off with me – hence the non-existent reply. Again, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Sadly, he stands and he pulls me up, drawing me into a brief embrace whilst I slowly pat his back. I suppose it’s my way of silently saying ‘thank you’ for what he did. It’s not much, but it will suffice.

“I think the others are all going into town tomorrow to celebrate. You should go with them,” he smiles.

“Will you be there?”

“No. I have to stay at the palace.”

“Then what’s in it for me? I don’t really fancy spending the day anywhere _near_ Jaeger,” I grouse, folding my arms in an unimpressed huff.

“There’ll be alcohol—“

“I’m in.”

Chuckling lightly, Armin begins to walk out of the kitchen and back into the main shop. I follow him in and lean against the counter as he hovers by the front door, reluctant to go. “I think it’ll be good for you instead of staying here alone. I don’t really want to find out that you’ve been strangling yourself again.”

“Excuse me?”

Armin’s hand freezes over the door handle and he tilts his head to one side in curiosity with knitted brows. “Earlier. You were strangling yourself.”

“No, I wasn’t,” I scowl.

“Yes, you were.” When my face proves that I still think he’s bullshitting me, he turns his entire body to me and stands straight. “You had your hands around your neck like this.” Mimicking what I apparently was doing when he came in, Armin holds his hands over his windpipe and clenches down on it. His face begins to turn red instantly.

“Alright point made,” I snap hurriedly so he doesn’t kill himself. He releases his throat, panting heavily and watches silently, waiting for my reaction.

I certainly don’t remember strangling myself. I know I had my hands near my neck, but I was trying to get the shadows _off_ me, not do it _myself_.

“So you didn’t see the shadows?” I blurt.

Oh fuck.

“What shadows?” Armin frowns.

I can _feel_ them laughing at me, slowly clapping at the huge fucking slip of my tongue. They really _are_ enjoying this.

“It’s nothing.”

Luckily for me, Armin knows me well enough not to pry, so he nods with concern growing in his eyes and opens the door. We exchange final awkward goodbyes, both of us now knowing that things aren’t what they seem, and with a reluctant sigh, he leaves.

Once I’m alone, there’s only one question on my mind like a missing puzzle piece, the hole it belongs to slowly eating away at me and it’s becoming more and more frustrating with each passing day… What the actual fuck is going on?

 

* * *

 

_I’ve been here before. The familiar heat swirls over my skin, a light, warm dance to begin with. It’s comforting. It heats my body slowly, lulling me into a false sense of security and rocks me into a calm, floating sensation._

_Maybe I am floating. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was, but I keep my eyes closed, revelling in the calm whilst I still can._

_I know it won’t last. It’s only a matter of time until everything heats up._

**_I’ve been here before._ **

_Thoughts begin to set in, bringing darkness and doubt with them and settling in my mind. The more the doubt clouds my head, the hotter my skin becomes. It’s like I’m the one controlling it and the fire obeys my every command, yet I don’t know how to stop it._

_Pressing harder against my skin the more I clench, the heat begins to scorch my skin. Pain strikes through my core and I begin to wince. The burn is becoming unbearable and I don’t think I can lie like this for much longer._

_Opening my eyes from the second hot flush piercing through me, I’m blinded by my surroundings._

_Scorching, scolding flames devour me, pressing against my skin, crinkling it away to reveal the boiling blood hidden beneath it and it crawls over me, dripping red over my skin and into the blaze below me. I scream at my mutilated, disfigured body. The very sight of my skin flaking away like burnt paper makes my stomach churn and I grab onto each fragment I can, trying to keep my blood in my body. I can’t get the flames to stop and they’re surrounding me, burning me into ash. There’s no way out of this ring of fire and I’m trapped._

_All I see is sweltering orange and flickering gold whilst my skin creases like dead leaves, turning black and whirling away from me. I’ve been here before, yet the red-hot sensation against my skin is just as excruciating as last time. Doubling over like an old hag, I scream harder, choking on my own voice as I turn to dust in the flames._

_My body begins to flay as cruel winds circle me, whisking the very air out of my lungs until I can only breathe in this unbearable heat. My bones feel as if they’re ablaze and I don’t think I can sit straight for much longer._

_I give in and I tumble, falling onto firewood and becoming a part of it. Just like the burning timber, I burn with it, curled into a tight ball and waiting for this to end. I know it will, I just have to go through the same painful image that I see every night in my dreams and wake up._

_I can handle it._

_I screw my eyes shut and wait for the next part whilst the burning pain licks up my back. Through the dark, I weep as I hear screams and shouts all around me. **His** screams and shouts. _

_Blood-curdling cries spin through my head and it’s the same words over and over again. “Jean! …  Jean! Please!”_

_Curling into myself further, I try to focus on the pain snaking through me instead of his cries for help. I’d rather leave this place disfigured and burned than to hear him scream my name like that._

_“I’m begging you! Jean! No! Please!”_

_The shadows begin to creep through the fire, circling around my limbs and holding me in my place, burning and crying as I endure this torture._

_“Please! You’ve got it wrong!” Every word is strangled and broken as he screams for my help. But I can’t move. Talons dig into my skin, exposing more of my scorched body to the unforgiving flames and I burn, my blood torrid and my hands blistered. I scream out to him, hoping that he’ll hear me, but I receive nothing but the roaring of the flames and the sound of my own pathetic cries._

**_I know your voice this time._ **

_Chills are sent running through me as they replace the burn and I realise what’s to come next. I keep my eyes firmly shut._

_“Please.” That broken, almost silent word rushes from his lips in one last attempt to cry out, but I still can’t move and I become frozen to my place._

_All goes quiet._

_Unknown forces pull me to my feet in the dark, clinging to my wrists enough to bruise them and soft, comforting linen is draped over me like a shroud, enclosing my red, swollen burns and white-hot blisters. Forcing me to walk, the shadows push my bare feet over the ground and I open my eyes again as his crumpled, huddled body comes into view._

_This is where I lose control of myself. It’s happened before. Shadows take over my movements, threatening to break every bone in my body if I don’t comply, and I let them. Weakness takes over, corrupting my logical reasoning and I give into the shadows, letting them take over completely. Like watching outside my own body, I can do nothing as I watch them control me like a puppet on strings, threatened to be thrown back into the fire if I don’t obey._

_I’m so sorry._

_Ash and dust rain down onto him – **my** ash and dust – and he screams as he becomes blotted out like a mistake by the storm of my powdered remains._

_I don’t even know what I am anymore. I’m not alive, but I’m not dead either. I’m not the same thing I was when I was awake. In my dreams I become something else – something more sinister; something that can watch him scream and cry out for help as he’s choked by soot and not flinch. Inside, though, I’m terrified. I don’t want to see him like this, but the shadows are keeping me still, forcing me to listen to every broken cry and wheeze._

_I can’t do this anymore._

_“Stop,” I command. Obediently, the dust clears at my order and I watch in the shadows as he regains himself._

_In a rage, the shadows push me forwards, closer to him and the torment I’m putting him through._

_I disobeyed and now I must watch as a mere spectator as my body ruins him._

_The fire’s dead and gone, reduced to tiny embers running through the tinder, trying to escape, and grey, loitering smoke fills the air, choking both of us._

_He can’t see me yet, I know he can’t. But I see him clear as day. Quivering from the cold, he sits on the hard ground, terrified as to what will befall him next. Everything about him is broken; from his shaken breath, to his shattered bones, there’s no life left in him at all. He stays curled up in a ball, watching the cinders before him and he only reacts when he sees me standing next to him._

_He rises, staring me down and I shiver under his glare. He doesn’t know me anymore and it hurts._

_The last time we did this, he screamed at me, demanding to know what I was or what I was doing there, but this time it’s different. He just stands there, shaking in his dirtied clothes, a shroud of cold beneath them, chilling him to the bone._

_Here we go again. Again for the thousandth night, but each time it’s more painful. The way he looks at me hurts now more than ever. It’s the same stare he gave me when he ran… and now we have to do this again. Face to face and both of us terrified. I can’t even warn him of what I’ll do next. I have no more control over my body and I just want to apologise and speak to him. No matter how loud I scream, the shadows mute me and he keeps staring._

_Valiantly, he takes a step forwards and pulls away my hood with as much care as he can put into his long fingers. His pale features, smudged in my remains, come into view. He does nothing. Not even the slightest rush of air leaves his lips as my face is revealed. He watches me, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathes calmly, easing himself for what we both know will come._

_Even in this desolate shithole of a place, he’s still beautiful._

_Blank. Everything about him is blank. I can’t tell what he’s thinking or how he’s reacting to seeing me again after what I did to him. Blood red lips, swollen from being bitten purse as he watches me and a part of me wants to pull him in and kiss away the pain I can see growing in the molten brown of his eyes. But the shadows won’t let me. I’m their doll now._

_The part of me that is being forced to watch shivers as his fingertips press against my cheeks and he rests his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes coldly. My insides are screaming, yet my face shows no mercy. I’m stone. I can’t move and now I can no longer feel. Even though I have no control of my body, I can still feel the way his eyes pierce through me, stabbing me in the chest and I’m in agony._

_If I had control of my body, I’d be crying. If I could move, I would kiss him. If I could speak, I’d tell him how much I miss him. If I could **feel** more than this woe, I’d tell him that I wouldn’t mind keeping him around for a little while longer._

_Icy October eyes slowly begin to melt, the ice turning to cold, clear water that runs down his cheeks and he smiles sadly, his fingers going to stroke the back of my neck and the shorter, darker hairs that lie there._

_Softly, he caresses my skin, still crying, and he places a kiss against my forehead._

_Now I’m sure that this is just a bad dream. This is only what I want him to do. I can’t imagine him doing this – not after what I did to him. But it’s so real. The familiar feeling of his soft lips against my skin is enough to give me butterflies all over again and I only want him to stay._

_Please stay._

_His head falls and he rests it on my shoulder, sobbing harder into the material and fisting his hands on my chest in some kind of plea. It’s never been this bad. I’ve never seen him like this. Usually, he’s just scared, wanting to get out as quickly as possible. He usually **screams** when he sees me. But this is so much worse. I’m used to being seen as a monster, but when he’s breaking down like this in front of me and I can do nothing, it’s a whole new form of torture. I can’t take this for much longer, and I don’t think he can either._

_“Jean,” he sobs. It’s the only thing he’s capable of saying. We both have questions unanswered, I know that, but neither of us can allow letting anything leave our lips. Mine are sewed shut. His are too corrupted with tears to even try._

_I stand there uselessly. I can do nothing to ease his broken cries of my name and I begin to feel my skin decaying, tumbling away from me._

_It’s happening again._

_A fragment brushes against his cheek and he looks up at me with sore eyes. I think he knows what’s coming. He always does. It’s the way he flinches and screams whilst it happens. He **knows**._

_Levelling with me slowly, a form of realisation glows in his eyes. He knows that I know. He knows that we’ve been here before._

_Now we just need to play it out like they want us to._

_Decaying flesh dwindles away from my body and into the winds around us. I’m slowly wasting away like I do every night. But this is so much worse. It’s coming. The moment that hangs on my shoulders every time I wake up like dead weight, crippling me with regret and anxiety._

_Trembling fingers lightly push away the material covering his shoulder and pale, corpselike skin is exposed. He grabs hold of his arm, nails digging into his skin and his lips begin to quiver, yet no tears come._

_“Just do it,” he says breathlessly._

_He may as well rip my heart out of my chest. It’s so bruised and broken from **everything** , that I don’t think it’s functional anymore._

_Darkness comes, misting over my eyes until he becomes nothing but a hazy blur. The last thing I see of him is the dizzying terror in his eyes as mine turn black and all I can hear is his shaken breath, getting louder and louder until—_

_And then he screams as the taste of liquid metal burns on my tongue._

_We’ve done it again, only this time it’s so much worse._

* * *

 

I wake up in a start and a cold sweat, regret clawing down my back, begging to be fed even more than it already has. Even though it was only a dream, the taste of blood on my tongue is too sincere for comfort. I can still taste it now, and it makes me sick.

My head’s spinning as the final image I saw of him plays over in my head like a broken chord, out of sync and out of tune. His screams ring in my ears, similar to morning bells and I cling onto my skull, silently pleading for this noise to stop.

Gumbie stirs next to me and rubs his soft head against my arm for comfort, meowing tenderly in assurance. As he burrows his head deeper into me, my breathing begins to slow, and I’m reminded of where I am. Trost, planted in a field on the edge of the forest of doom in an old shack of a house/shop that’s slowly rotting away, in a tiny wooden bed that I’ve had since I was a child. _Home_.

Just another bad dream. The _same_ bad dream. It happens so often that only a moment after I’m cast back into reality, everything is normal again. It’s like it doesn’t even phase me anymore, but even I know that it will crop up again the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that, until I’m maddened by the torture we both have to endure every time the sun sinks, dragging all our hopes with it.

Instead of dwelling on it I’ve learnt to continue on, no matter how bad the dreams get. I can dwell on them in the confinements of the night before I close my eyes, terrified as to what I’ll see next. Although, it’s always the same scene, just with minor alterations.

Like last night. He’s never kissed me before. He’s never _cried_ like that before.

None of it makes any sense.

Groaning in frustration, I fall backwards towards my pillow, nearly hitting my head on the wall behind me. I lie there for a moment with my eyes peacefully closed, rejoicing in the only moments I have in the dark without my thoughts being tainted by the shadows. Clearly hungry and agitated, Gumbie meows at me grumpily and starts licking the tip of my nose with his rough tongue, which feels like fucking wet sand. What a great way to start my morning: grumpy-ass cat and sweat dripping down my back.

As I unwillingly open my eyes, I’m blinded by the tiniest ray of sunshine creeping in through a crack in one of the shutters. Tilting my head slightly to get the thing away from my fucking eyes, it moves to my cheek, warming it slightly.

Wait… No fucking way. It’s _warm_?

Practically jumping out of bed, I run over to the window shutters and slam them open. I don’t care about the fact the flaming white light that blinds me as I stare outside. I stumble away from the window like my legs have just fallen off and nearly drop onto my ass, but holy fucking shit, the _sun’s_ out.

I don’t remember the last time I saw the sun. It may not seem like a big deal, but this is _huge_ for me. For someone who sees shadows lurking around every corner and lives next to a forest that radiates its own night, this is incredible.

It’s even more beautiful than I remember. It spreads out across the field in front of me like a crisp white sheet, illuminating all the wildlife around it. I’m seeing colours I feel like I’ve never seen before as the light wind twists the grass into different angles, and each part shines a new shade of green. Everything I see seems to be thriving and _living_ in the sunlight and I just want to go out there and be immersed in it.

So I run. I run downstairs and out the front door as quickly as I can with Gumbie hot on my tail, yelling louder than I’ve ever heard him. He’s probably protesting about the fact that I’m going outside naked, but who gives a shit. Who wouldn’t want to run through a field butt-naked whilst they’re surrounded by sunshine?

And that’s what I do. I run and I don’t stop.

I run like the winter breeze colliding into nothing and crashing waves hitting the shore line. I run like birds soaring over crystal clear skies and wolves hunting their prey. I have no idea what time it is and I have no clue what day. All I know is that I have to keep running forward; not stopping for anything.

The feeling of dried grass flattening beneath my bare feet makes me leap higher than the sun itself. Undergrowth wraps itself around my ankles and wrists as I bound past, trying to get me to slow down because of course, this is completely mad. But I don’t care. I’m bathing in sunlight and no one can stop me.

My legs feel like they have springs in them and I’m pretty sure that I’ve lost Gumbie somewhere in the winding, twisting forest of grass that’s three times his height. I’m bolting faster, waving my arms in the air like a lunatic as the cool breeze glides over my skin like silk and I’m _laughing_. I’m free and there’s no one here to stop me. No shadows; no dark clouds looming overhead; no worries lurking in my mind. Not in this moment, anyway.

It feels fucking fantastic and when I stumble to a wearying stop, I collapse into the grass and stare up at the baby blue sky, decorated with white, creamy wisps. The sun shines onto my skin and it warms every part of me. I’ve never been this close to the sun before, or really appreciated how incredible my surroundings are when the darkness is taken away and it’s a truly incredible feeling.

Closing my eyes peacefully, I lie there, perfectly still, basking in the glorious warmth. It truly is amazing. My body has never been this close to my atmospheres before and I can feel it rushing through me, giving me all of its life. I’m at peace in this moment. I just wish I there was someone else here to enjoy it with.

“Jean? What the fuck are you doing? W-why are you _naked_?”

When I said _someone_ , I didn’t mean fucking Jaeger. He’s the _last_ person I want here.

“I’ve decided that I want to become an exhibitionist. How am I doing?”

Opening my eyes again, I groan to see Eren looming over me, his thick eyebrows knitted together in a permanent frown and he sighs. “Brilliantly. You’ll scare people even more now.” He takes a step closer to me, dangerously close to my never-regions and I flinch away, sitting up straight and giving him a partial amount of my attention. “I’d go put some clothes on if I were you. We don’t really want you getting arrested today.”

What on earth is he—?

Right. I promised Armin that I’d go into town today.

“Where are Connie and Sasha?” I grumble, since they were the second best thing about coming out and my only relief from Eren.

“At home. They celebrated yesterday and now Connie’s got a headache.”

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

“What are we celebrating, again?” I grouse. I know exactly what, but it will allow me to go into one of my rants about how much I despise the royal family, so I’m not bothered.

“The prince’s birthday, Jean. You know that.” Just as I’m about to open my mouth to start raging, Eren cuts me off. “If you say a single word about the royal family today, I’ll cut out your tongue personally. Now please, for fucks sake, go get dressed. I don’t think I can cope with your nakedness for much longer.”

Smiling wickedly, I haul myself up and smirk at him. As I turn away, I give him a lovely view of my ass as I walk back towards the shop, swaying my hips slightly. I don’t even bother looking back at his expression – I know him too well.

I find Gumbie meowing in distress not too far away from the entrance of the shop. The moment I pick him up, he starts grumbling at me and digs his claws into my chest. I think I deserve it. I did abandon him, after all.

Plopping him on the countertop, I hurry upstairs and get dressed, throwing on the first items of clothing I see. I admit, I probably look a mess, but it’s not like it’s a special occasion or anything, so I shrug, deciding that this will make do and go back downstairs.

Eren’s there waiting for me, petting Gumbie gently and cooing. It makes me cringe slightly. I never do all that stupid googoo-gaga talk with him. Animals are here _with_ us, not _for_ us, so we have to treat them as equals, not minorities.

I hover on the bottom step, watching the both of them and Gumbie begins to play rough, attempting to nip at Eren’s fingers as he brushes past his ears and patting him with his paws. I should probably stop them before it all ends in—

“Ouch!”

I _knew_ that would happen. Fucking called it.

“You ready?” I ask and Eren jumps out of his skin.

“Your cat just fucking bit me,” he scowls.

I shrug. “Then don’t treat him like a child.”

I ignore the snide comment he makes about my relationship with my cat and walk past him, saying goodbye to said cat as I leave the shop with Eren trailing not too far behind.

 

* * *

 

Despite my pretty good argument, Eren doesn’t agree with me that it’s a huge deal that the sun’s out. I think it’s because he’s just _so_ happy to be spending the day with me.

“It’s the _fucking sun_ ,” I tell him, marvelling at the sky for the fiftieth time on our journey.

“What about it?” he shrugs. I’m walking ahead of him so I can’t see his face, but I _know_ he’s rolling his eyes. I hear the degrading tone in his voice that it usually accompanies.

“Eren, when was the last time we actually saw the sun?” I glance back to find him shrugging again.

“Last year?”

“ _Exactly_!”

“So what? The prince got lucky with the weather. Good for him.”

The moment he mentions the prince, I shut up. I forgot that this entire weekend was dedicated to him.

All sorts of events have been taking place over the weekend, including jousting tournaments, sword fighters and street performers of all kinds – all under Duke Erwin’s orders, of course. Only the best for his spoilt nephew.

Obviously, Eren wants to go and watch the jousting since Levi of all people is partaking.

I’m not bothered by any of it. Surprisingly, not even the alcohol, even though the smell of it is getting stronger with each step I take.

The smell of the celebrations hit the two of us before the sights do and as we arrive in the centre, we’re hit by a wave of colour.

As I predicted, Trost is partying harder than ever before. The whole town centre is erupting in a jolly, colourful glow and everywhere you look, you’ll find someone smiling back at you.

The crowds are immense as Eren and I hustle and bustle our way through the jungle of swaying bodies, each one probably giddy with alcohol and dancing to the roar of music coming from all angles. There are so many bands playing that the music has become a tuneful drone, basically all playing the same fanfares anyway, so it makes no difference.

Taverns are jam-packed and have now settled for placing large kegs of ale and wine out on the streets for everyone to just help themselves. Queues ranging in size have lined up in front of every single one and large gulps are being taken from the contents.

There’s colour everywhere you look. Each person has dressed in their very best for the occasion and almost everyone is making their way towards the palace. We’re being pushed with the crowd slowly, trying to escape.

Eren manages to find a small gap and we sprint out of the suffocating mob as quickly as we can. Panting, we stand close to a nearby fruit stall and watch the passers-by, all yelling and squealing with excitement.

“Do you think we’ll see the prince?” a girl asks excitedly.

“Apparently he’s beautiful!” another exclaims.

“And he’s _still_ not married!” Eren and I both roll our eyes as the gaggle of girls all scream in glee and continue walking towards the castle that Marc often described as a prison. Even looking on from here as the turrets tower above the thatched roves of the city, I believe every word of it. That is not a place I would ever want to spend my days.

Speaking of prison, there was actually meant to be an execution today. It had been planned well before the prince’s arrival as it was such a serious crime, but now it’s been postponed under the Duke’s orders. The very thought sends chills down my spine. I’ve never once been to an execution, nor will I ever. It’s immoral and I can’t understand how these people can view someone dying and call it entertainment. It’s ludicrous.

Chills hit me again.

To calm myself, I turn behind me to stare at all the luscious fruit on display in the stall. Even the stall owners have put out their most colourful and high quality produce for the event. Plump, shiny apples gaze at me longingly, begging to be eaten and, well, I can’t say no. I suppose it would be a better option than drinking until I can’t walk this early in the day.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I fumble around for any spare change I have and I manage to find a couple of pennies. Eren looks at me quizzically as I buy my late breakfast, but I ignore him and we stare on into the crowds again.

“ _Do_ you think we’ll see him?” he asks.

“Who?”

“The prince.”

“You sound like a teenage girl,” I chuckle, receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“I’m being serious. Wouldn’t you at least want to know what he looks like and see if the rumours are true?”

I shake my head, rubbing my apple on my sleeve. “Not really. And I doubt we’ll see him. He’s never allowed anywhere near the public. He stays in his room all day entirely on his own and knows nothing about the outside world. I don’t think that’s going to change today.”

“How do you know?” Eren frowns.

“Marc told me.” The way I say his name holds no expression. It’s flat and lifeless, just wavering out of my mouth like sawdust.

“Of course he did. How is—“

“Let’s not talk about him, alright?”

The frown he’s giving me makes my insides boil from the scrutiny and I scowl back even harder, trying to make my point clear. “Do I want to know?” he asks.

“No.” I turn to avoid his glare and stare back into the crowds watching every single one of them celebrate this useless occasion and wonder if they’re the same as me. I wonder if they actually _do_ care that it’s the prince’s birthday, or if they’re just here for the excessive amounts of alcohol. I wonder if _Marc_ actually cares.

My eyes fall onto a small child battling against the crowds, tugging onto stranger’s trouser legs, begging. He’s tiny and his clothes drape over him like a tent, exposing protruding bones and pallid skin, smudged with dirt and grot. I can hear him calling out to people for relief, money, food… anything that can help him and I stand there frozen with a plump, green apple in my hand. He takes one look at me and I can hear his stomach rumble from where I’m standing. He doesn’t look at me for long, guilt misting his eyes and he turns away, begging again.

I take one look at the boy, and then another at the fruit in my hand. My stomach makes an audible groan, yet I take a deep breath and ignore it.

Am I seriously considering this?

When I start walking away, I can hear Eren calling after me, pleading me to wait for him before we both get sucked into the crowd. Too late. I’m already submerged in it, crawling my way towards the boy as he gets pushed and shoved around like he’s dirt on the bottom of someone’s shoe, completely ignored and forgotten.

In a bizarre way, I know how he feels.

Tapping him on the shoulder lightly, I feel him tense under my fingertips in shock. He turns to me and his face falls with horror in his eyes. Giving him what I hope is my best comforting smile, I hold out the apple for him. For a while he stares at me like he’s not sure if the apple’s poisoned or not, judging my appearance to see if I’m actually going to do this. I’m quite shocked myself, if I’m honest.

Tentatively, he grasps the apple in my hand, still searching my face for approval. I nod slowly and with a gleaming grin, he holds it to his mouth and bites into it, sweet juices and skin decorating the outside of his mouth. He relishes in every bite he takes, each one slower than the last as he savours every taste. If that was me, I would have just eaten the damn thing by now and move on like it’s nothing special – but this boy looks as if he hasn’t eaten in days. This is a fucking miracle for him.

“Thank you, mister,” he mumbles around a mouthful.

I can’t really do anything but smile at him. I’m so shocked by my own actions that I’ve made myself speechless. Turning away before I change my mind, I see Eren with his jaw hanging slack. Clearly, he had the same reaction to that as me.

“Don’t say a single fucking word,” I snap as I grab hold of his wrist and begin to follow the stream of the crowd.

“Jean you just—“

“I said don’t say a word. Now are we going to watch this fucking jousting match or what?” I glance back in time to see him roll his eyes, which earns him a good tug on his arm so he stumbles forwards. I stop walking and he crashes into me, grumbling. Dusting himself off, he nods eagerly and we head further and further towards the palace.

The closer we get, the louder the crowd becomes and the sound of bands playing fanfares slowly merges into the cringe worthy noise of wood shattering against metal. Roars of applause fill the air around us and we still draw nearer to the immense crowd that had formed in front of the palace walls.

Eren and I give each other a nod of good luck and we barge through the bodies of tipsy civilians and regular joust onlookers. With each person I pass, I receive either a tetchy complaint or a shoving. Either way, I still manage to get to the front and Eren emerges soon after me.

I don’t really know why I’m even doing this for him. I hate jousting with a passion, yet here I am at the very front, watching as a metal plated body is dragged out of the mish-mash of an arena.

There’s not really much I can say about this place. Civilians are fenced out on one side like pigs, standing straight obediently and watching the commotion. On the other side of the sand coated floor, wooden aisles and seats have been built for the rich, with the royal gallery dead in the centre, draped in red cloth.

From where I’m standing, I can make out the figures of two men, presumably Duke Erwin and the prince, yet I’m too far away to catch a glimpse of his face. That’s probably not an accident.

There’s movement in the arena as two men clad in metal on horseback stand proudly on either side. The crowd booms in delight as they stare one another down through their visors.

Eren nudges me. “That’s _him_!”

“Who?”

“Lance Corporal Levi!” He points fanatically to the opponent of our left. The way he sits on his horse so proudly makes me wince and I really fucking want him to lose.

Compared to his challenger, Levi is tiny. He looks more like a toy about to be severed rather than a terrifying vampire in hiding. It’s almost comical.

Both knights sit gallantly (snobbishly) on their steeds and ready themselves for their joust. Glancing beside me, I see Eren grinning madly, eagerly awaiting the fight. At least _he’s_ enjoying this. Though, I lighten up a little as his eyes gleam like a child’s. His face takes me back to when we were both too young and innocent to care about the things we do now – before I fucked up.

Armour rattles and I’m brought to attention again as Levi and his opponent contemplate which move will strike the other down. The horses scrape their hooves across the ground, ready to charge and the adrenaline begins building in the air. Eren’s grabbing onto the fence for dear life, barely able to control his excitement. I look away before he notices that I’m smiling at him.

At the curt wave of a white flag, they charge at full speed ahead towards each other, the horse’s hooves clattering against the ground. The crowd goes deathly silent as both challengers lower their staffs into position.

“Go on, Levi,” Eren breathes next to me.

Please lose, Levi – just so I can tease Eren about this later.

I know he won’t lose. He’s a vampire. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t end up killing his opponent.

Thundering hooves grow louder and harder the closer the two rivals get, staffs poised and poking dangerously at one another.

How to win a joust? Knock your opponent off his horse, or kill him.

The world stops to take a breath and everything around me slows as I watch the following events.

Something in Levi’s posture changes and his head turns to face me. I feel his glare set on me harder than the first time and it makes my legs turn into nothing. I fall forwards and grab onto the fence for support. As I fall, still watching his every move, his gaze moves to something behind me and he jolts, losing his concentration entirely. He begins to tremble in fear on his horse and the crowds cries of desperation as the other staff edges closer and closer to him become mere echoes. His opponent strikes him down in an almighty blow and Levi tumbles backwards off his horse, landing on the hard ground, still shuddering.

The crowd erupts in horror as he lies there, broken and defeated whilst his opponent canters off the scene bathing in victory.

“What?! He can’t lose! I bet my wages on him!”

“But he’s the champion! How is this possible?!”

“No one has _ever_ beaten Levi! This is a set up!”

I don’t think this is a set up. Something fucked with Levi’s concentration and I can still feel its presence behind me. It’s cold and dark and it knows that I can feel it. I’ve felt something like this before, but it isn’t the shadows. This is a creature I have only encountered once before and _he’s_ now lying in the dust.

There’s another vampire behind me. I just fucking know it.

Attendants are now all rushing onto the scene, helping Levi up with the upmost care and he pushes them all away, ripping his helmet off and his silver eyes glare into the crowd, staring right through me. Chills run down my spine as he approaches us and Eren grips onto my arm – partly out of fear and partly out of exhilaration.

He ignores us completely and his hands slam down onto the fence. The crowd jumps back as the metal clatters against the wood and Levi’s wrathful glare pierces through the pack. Slowly, I turn my head and my worst fears are confirmed.

Only a few heads behind me, grinning wickedly, is another vampire. His head stands higher than all the rest in the crowd, supported by a thin, long stature. Mouse brown hair falls on his head like a mop, contrasting the dark, thin facial hair around his mouth and the pale gold eyes that burn in glee at Levi’s fury.

Metal adorned hands clamp down harder on the fence as the vampire’s grin widens and Levi snarls. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growls through gritted teeth.

Carelessly, the vampire shrugs. “It’s been a while, Levi – how have you been? Are you still mollycoddling the prince?”

“ _Leave_.”

Not caring that everyone in the crowd is watching him, the vampire runs his tongue over his bottom lip and his fangs are exposed. Small murmurs from the crowd are heard as his teeth show and people begin to move away, frightened for their lives. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we?”

Eren tugs on my arm. “We should go,” he mumbles, barely moving his lips.

“No. We’re staying.”

“Jean, I really think—“ I glare at him before he can say anymore and he jumps, shrinking back behind me and away from the mysterious stranger standing isolated in the gathering.

The waves of people part as the being saunters towards the fence. He’s only a fraction away from me and I can feel the hatred radiating off him. Towering above Levi on purpose, he stares him down, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “It’s a shame, you know. You could have stayed with us. We need someone like you, especially in times—“

“Stop talking,” Levi snaps. “Don’t speak like that here. If you want to talk, just ask.”

Quirking an eyebrow, the vampire nods and beckons Levi away from the arena. Despite the calls coming from the attendants, Levi ducks under the fence and follows the creature through the crowds and out of sight, people clearing a path for them as if they’re in a trance as they disappear into the sea of bodies.

I glance back at Eren and he instantly knows what I’m thinking.

“You’re not following him,” he says dryly.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here and we’re going to watch the rest of the tournament. Armin said that this was meant for you to calm down. Therefore, no witchy business or…”

Whilst he isn’t looking, I leave before I’m made to hear the rest. I’ll go back and find him later. He’ll understand. It’s just that things like this can’t be left alone.

I catch sight of the vampire’s head turning into a nearby street. It’s not exactly hard to keep track of him since he’s so tall, so I follow him, keeping my eyes locked on the back of his head moving through the crowd. As the placement of citizens start to become scarce, he turns into an alleyway with Levi trailing behind him and I hover nearby, just close enough to make out their mumbles. Pressing my back against the cold, hard stone wall, I lean in and listen with questioning.

“What do you want, Mike?” Levi snaps. “You shouldn’t have done that – not in public. Erwin will come looking for me.”

“Then I’ll be brief.” The vampire’s voice lowers a few tones and I flinch, hoping that he can’t sense that I’m listening. “We need you back.”

Levi scoffs. “And why would that be?”

“You know exactly why, Levi.” Silence. It clings to my skin like thick fog. The vampire sighs heavily. “There are _things_ in the forest. We’re losing members like wildfire and we can’t fight it.”

“Then why do you need me?” Levi asks.

“Because you’re our best fighter.”

“ _Was_ your best fighter. If I remember correctly you chased me out of the forest after almost beating me to death, screaming that you never wanted to see me again.”

“Levi, we _need_ you,” it begs. The amount of desperation clawing in its voice makes me shiver against the stone and I begin to wonder what’s really going on inside that forest.

I knew the situation for the vampires was bad, but by now there must be hardly any of them left and whatever is in there with them seems to be getting stronger, killing them off one-by-one.

They’re desperate.

The lingering silence seems to go on forever and I begin to wonder if Levi is _actually_ considering this. He must realise that they’re probably lying and will slaughter him the moment they don’t need him anymore. It’s basic vampire mentality. _He_ should know that better than anyone.

“No,” Levi declares. Thank fuck.” “I won’t do it. You’ve become monsters…” Chills. “You take away people’s _lives_ , Mike. I can’t go back to doing that. I have a life now. I have people that I need to protect from the very likings of you, and I can’t put them in danger.”

Gravel crunches as one of them begins to circle the alleyway and the other vampire sneers. “So he _does_ have a heart. Who’d have thought?”

“I said that I needed to protect him, not that I cared. It’s my job, nothing more.”

A snarky laugh pierces through the silence and it makes me cringe. “So it’s a _him_ now. I wonder who?”

So do I.

The pacing stops and I hear a loud sigh breathed from Levi’s lips in regret. He knows he’s going to have to say something to keep the vampire away. “He keeps putting himself in dangerous situations. I _can’t_ leave,” he beseeches.

“So you know what he’s been doing?”

“I know everything. And by the looks of things, so do you.”

“I know that something’s after him. Did _you_ know that?”

“I had my suspicions.”

Gripping onto a tiny crack in the wall behind me, I push up harder against the stone to listen in even closer.

Are they talking about the prince? They must be. Who else would Levi want to protect so badly.

“So it has nothing to do with _the other one_?” Levi asks.

“No. It’s been after him for a long time. There’s no stopping it. The shadows _will_ claim him, Levi, and you must let them.”

“Yet you want Marco for yourself.”

I am so fucking confused.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, the vampire begins to pace again, his voice slowly growing distant. “You’re smart, Levi. You figure it out for yourself. _We’re_ just doing it a favour.” Echoes boom around the alley as the vampire begins to disappear, his words leaving a mark in the stone and becoming engraved in my head. “The boy _will_ die, Levi. There’s no stopping it.”

Those final spoken words hang in the air like bad news and poor outcomes, polluting every inhale and exhale. I turn away and hold my head in my hands, trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about. None of it makes any sense.

_Who’s ‘the other one’? Is it the prince? Who the fuck is this Marco person that everyone keeps going on about? Is he going to die? **Someone’s** going to die. What’s this ‘favour’?_

Internally screaming, I grumble to myself and pinch the bridge of my nose as if that’ll help me figure things out.

…

I give up. It’s just riddles to me.

Well, I feel very sorry for the prince and whoever Marco is. Good thing I’m not involved in _that—_

Oh fuck.

I turn my head to see Levi standing in front of me, meters away from where he was only a few moments ago. His wrathful glare is like a stab to the chest and he’s staring me down like an animal, fists clenched into tight balls and teeth gritted.

He knew I was there the whole time.

Balling his hand in my tunic, he pulls me towards him with an immense force so I’m staring into his thundering eyes. “Don’t think that I don’t know who you are, boy. I know what your purpose here is and what you’ve been doing.” I knew it. I had my suspicions that he recognised who I was and now he’s just confirmed them. I can’t help but feel a bit proud of myself for having a reputation that stretches as far as _Jinae_. Then Levi shakes me back to attention, his glare darker than before. “If you breathe a word of this to _anyone_ , even Marco, I will decapitate your head and sever your limbs from your torso,” he breathes worryingly low. “Do you understand, Kirschtein?”

“Who’s Marco?” I frown and I receive a good kicking in my gut. Now probably isn’t the time to be asking questions.

“Do you understand?” he repeats whilst I recover from the burning pain in my belly.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He lets go of me and I drop to the floor, clinging onto my stomach and writhing in pain. Keeping my eyes fixated on the ground, I listen as he strides past me, walking away from this mess like nothing ever happened.

Although something did, and now I’m more determined than ever to find out what the fuck is going on. My head is buzzing with questions, the one screaming at me the most: who the fuck is Marco?

“Jean, what the fuck are you doing? Did you go after Levi? Are you fucking… oh my god – what happened to you?”

Eren. Of course it’s fucking Eren.

 

* * *

 

Aching pains have been stabbing through my stomach all evening. I feel like I’ve just been kicked by a horse and I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a nice big bruise or something tomorrow. If it wasn’t for Eren finding me and dragging me back home, I could have fucking _died_ out there.

Alright, maybe I’m exaggerating, but Levi’s really fucking strong for such a short-ass and he just left me there to fucking rot. Prick.

But yet here I am – alive (just about), bored and really fucking hungry. Even better, I’ve ran out of food again and I can no longer tell whether my constant starvation is due to these shitty conditions I’m living in, or pure my laziness to go to the market. I’m more inclined towards the latter.

I nearly jump out of my seat as Gumbie nuzzles against my leg and pounces up onto Marc’s stool— Fucking hell, Jean. Stop it. He’s not coming back, remember?

Allow me to re-phrase: Gumbie pounces up onto _the_ stool (much better, well done) and starts yowling at me. At least I’m not the only one who’s hungry.

“Sorry, Gumbs,” I mumble, scratching behind his ear. “I wish we had food too. Sadly, I’m too lazy to do anything about it.” The little shit actually _meows_ in agreement, pawing at the book in front of me.

Yes, Gumbie. Eat the book instead – it gives me an excuse not to read it like Hanji’s ordered me to. I’ve been meaning to read it for days as Hanji believes it to be “really, really important” and could “save me a whole lot of trouble”. It was written by the witch before me who was _blessed_ with these powers and Hanji thought it might help in some way, but I haven’t touched it. I’ve been… busy. And by busy, I mean not getting out of bed – even for customers – because I’m just that fucking useless, and getting beaten up by vampires.

My life sounds brilliant, doesn’t it?

“What? Do you want me to read it?” He keeps meowing and it’s starting to get on my nerves. This cat _really_ knows how to piss me off and get me to do something productive. Giving in, I sigh and drag the book closer to me, glaring at him. “Since when did you become my mother?”

Once Gumbie _finally_ gives up his insistent wailing, I decide to pass the time and actually listen to Hanji for once. I open up the book, shield my ears from all the sound enclosing me and stare at the page, bored out of my skull, desperate for _any_ form of entertainment, even if it means reading through this monster of a manuscript that looks as if it could rip in half at any given moment.

The book flops onto a random page and scruffy, rushed handwriting is scribbled across the stained paper.

What a disappointment – no pictures.

Grumbling to myself because I know Gumbie is no longer listening (he doesn’t put up with my shit), I start to read.

_19 th January 1244_

_As a growing and learning witch, I find it my duty to record any changes in my powers, even if it may be difficult, such as what I am about to write is. As much as it hurts me, I believe that this will benefit all those blessed, cursed – however you choose to view it – with these powers after me._  
Grief is an incredibly hard emotion to control, especially if you were there yourself. Even now when I look back on it and I realise that I was not experienced enough to save him, I still hold this burden in my heart and I feel that if I keep holding on, it will eat away at me until I become nothing but dust. But you can’t hold on; you’re holding on to something inevitably slipping away from you.  
Yesterday, I lost my husband. He came home during the night and he had been stabbed. He was slowly bleeding to death and no matter how many herbs and remedies I gave him, I wasn’t getting a response.  
I’ve known for a while now about my power to heal myself and I decided to attempt to heal my husband’s wounds, but to no avail. It’s too hard to go into detail about these things, but he died in my arms shortly after he stumbled through the door.  
It was almost as if all my emotions combined in that one moment. There was blood, tears and screaming and I couldn’t stop. I held him as close to my chest as I could so our hearts were in line and even though my throat was in agony, I kept screaming. All I could see was black, but the tighter I held him, the lighter things became. I was sure that I was dying, then I saw the light and it was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. It kept growing and when I opened my eyes everything around me was glowing in a luminous white light, more radiant than I had ever seen before. It was then that I realised—

“Gumbie!” I yell as he plonks himself right over the words I was reading and starts yowling again. And it was _just_ getting interesting. “What do you want _now_?”

Almost proudly that he’s got my full attention again, he leaps off the counter and waddles over to the door, rubbing his head against the wood. At least he isn’t clawing at it like he did last time.

“So you want to go out, now?” I roll my eyes as he turns to me and meows to confirm my question. “Make up your fucking mind, cat,” I groan as I get up and heave the door open for him.

Once again, he doesn’t move from the threshold and just stares out into the ever darkening night, breathing in the cool air and absorbing the stars in the sky. It’s been a while since I last saw those and they shine like precious gems imbedded in glistening black silk.

A curt mew cuts off my train of thought and I watch as Gumbie plods out into the field, turning back to me occasionally, beckoning me to follow him.

He’s up to something; I can tell.

I’m probably going to regret this later, but I shrug to myself and follow him out into the dark. Disappearing into the swaying grass, I have to rely on his calls and rustling green spindles to figure out where he is, and then he stops and falls onto his side, rubbing himself all over the ground, purring happily.

“Gumbie, what the hell are you doing?”

He stops and stares up at me and with a low grumble he sits up straight and pats the ground with his paw. Looking upwards, he shines his teeth at the sky in a huge yawn and then returns my gaze with a sinister glare.

“ _What?_ ”

A low, gritty whine rattles at the back of his throat and he walks around the spot in circles. And then I realise what he’s doing.

This is where I kissed Marc. He wants me to go see Marc.

“Oh fuck no. No fucking way, Gumbs. Are you mad? _He_ ran away from _me_ , not the other way around. He doesn’t want to see me anymore and that’s that.” I swipe my hands across my chest for extra emphasis, but he ignores me and continues walking in circles. He’ll get dizzy if he’s not careful. “Plus, it’s the prince’s _birthday_ ; he’ll be too busy to see me.”

No. Wait. No he won’t. All the attention will be on the prince and maybe if I could just pull him away just for a moment—

“No. It’s mad. He probably never wants to see me again after what I did. Besides, there’s no way I can get into the castle.”

Alright, now I’m just making up excuses so I don’t have to do this, but Gumbie sees right through me, pausing his dilly-dallying and looking up at me with that knowing look I’ve grown to despise so much. It’s almost like that cat can read my thoughts.

“You really want me to go?” He practically _grins_ , the little shit. I’ll take that as a yes. “But what if he doesn’t want to see me?” I stumble, tumbling over my words as excuse after excuse leaves my lips. Wryly, Gumbie drags out a very long and mordant meow and it feels like yet another kick in the gut.

One part of me doesn’t want to go anywhere near the castle, or Marc in general. It’s telling me to stay as far away as possible to prevent the rejection I could possibly face, which will inevitably be followed by me wallowing in self-pity for fuck knows how long. But then another part of me is telling me that I _should_ go. This is the first time I’ve really allowed myself to have feelings for someone, and who’s going to stop me from fighting for that? I _want_ to fight and I _want_ him to be around. I just don’t want to be rejected. I just don’t want to be alone. Neither does he. He’s told me that before.

When I kissed him, he didn’t run the moment my lips touched his. We were kissing for _quite_ a while. He actually _let me_ kiss him. It took him ages to pull away. But then again, maybe he just realised that I’m actually an awful kisser and he’s allergic to my saliva or something. Not likely… I think.

 _I think_. I’m just _thinking_ all of this instead of actually going to find out myself.

Turning to Gumbie again, I give him a defeated sigh and raise my hands in surrender. “You win. I’ll go. I suppose I do need some answers, and I have some other questions for him, too.”

_Such as who the fuck is Marco?_

Proudly, Gumbie shimmies his shoulders in that kind of “I told you so” tone. As much as I hate to admit it, I should probably listen to him more often. He’s like my mother when she isn’t around and most of the time it’s really fucking annoying, but today, I’m almost thankful for it.

Nodding to myself, I pad my feet against the ground, readying myself to sprint and look onwards into the field that seems to stretch into eternity in the darkness. Deep breaths in and out and I give Gumbie a final nod. Then I run. I run further and further into the darkness with only one thing on my mind.

_I have to see him smile one last time._

 

* * *

 

Every corner I turn is deserted and dead as I meander my way through the streets, edging closer and closer to the castle turrets that spike above the misty clouds in the sky. I wonder if he’s looking at the same thing as me. All of this. Outside; away from the place he calls a prison.

The stillness around me is quickly disturbed by my ragged breath and rushed steps clomping over the cobbled street paths and I tear through the darkness, the lights and music floating from the castle acting as my calling. I can hear the music playing and guests singing even from this distance. I’m so close I can almost taste the banquet on my tongue. I can _see_ him standing there in a warm glow of a raging fire, like that night at Maria’s. I want him to hold me like he used to.

The familiar clonk of horse hooves and rattling of wheels over stone is only a few streets away from me, and there are loads of them; each one nobles from all over the kingdom, all travelling this distance to get a good ogle at the prince. But I’m not interested in them. I’m not even interested in the prince. I have one person I’m here to see and that’s all. I’m shaking just from the anxiety of seeing him again. The adrenaline only makes me run faster.

The castle gates slowly begin to fade out of the blur of thatched rooftops and thick, black night and into a welcoming, warm glow of light radiating from the cold stone walls. Carriages of all shapes and sizes, carrying men and women in fine gowns and rich tunics, trundle into the castle one-by-one, being swallowed by the light and music. It’s almost a shock to my system as I transition from the dark of the town into this roaring celebration.

Before I become too mesmerised by the glow, I shake all other thoughts off and focus on my one reason for even being here… Marc.

Diving behind a cluster of bushes, just like he’d shown me, I creep around the outside of the castle, keeping my eyes on the wall and my ears on full alert. This noise is making it really fucking difficult to listen out for guards, so I’m more careful than the last time I was here. As I continue to crawl through my cover, I realise that the entire wall looks exactly the fucking same as it did only a few moments ago.

How can Marc even do this? I can’t get any closer and I’m too far away to see the tiny hole in the stone. He must have the eyes of a hawk for fucks sake.

Just as I’m tempted to turn around and leave, I see it, much smaller than I remember, but it’s still there. I sprint over to it, keeping my head low as I become uncovered and hover over the entrance.

It may be small, but the very thought of it is daunting. Behind this wall lies everything I’ve ever wanted. Money, power, riches. It’s all in there, only touched by the tiniest number of the luckiest people in the kingdom. My death could also lie in these walls. If I get caught, I’ll be done for trespassing. If _Levi_ catches me… I don’t even want to think about that. He might gut me and then feed off my corpse.

But _Marc’s_ in there. And I think he outweighs all the things that could go wrong with this plan of mine.

Well, it’s more of an improvisation than a plan.

Improvise. That’s the way to do it.

Taking a deep breath and wiping away the image of a vampire eating me alive, I dive under the stone and crawl into the palace grounds.

…

I regret my decision the moment I stand up.

I know nothing of this place. It’s so dark in this area of the grounds that I can hardly see my own hands and I’m lost. Lost to wander these grounds until I…

Armin. I need to find Armin.

From what I can just about see, this doesn’t seem to be a particularly well-looked-after part of the grounds, so the stables can’t be too far away. If I just stay in this area, I might smell some horse shit. And where there’s horse shit, there’s Armin.

I start to amble around the grounds, taking in the sights of the towering turrets above me that disappear into the misty sky and soft glows shining out of windows. Sweet music echoes around the stone and it makes my feet sway, making me dizzy and my eyes grow wide with desire. The taste of fresh meat dances on my tongue and I long for the simple taste of a well-prepared meal, made with care and not desperation.

I wouldn’t mind any of this. I’d swap places with Marc any day. I’d take Gumbie of course, but even though he views this place like a cage, at least it would keep me away from the townspeople. It would be better if he stayed with me, though. Everything would be better if he—

Horse shit. The pungent smell is all too familiar to be forgotten so easily since I smell it on Armin’s clothes every Thursday. Then I see them – the stables. And I lightly run towards the door, praying that he’s in there.

Peering through the open door, I watch as Armin slaves away at de-reining one of the horses, huffing and puffing each time the horse struggles against him. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“Shhh, calm down,” he soothes as he carefully slips the leather off the animal’s head, rubbing its nose gently. “It’s alright. You’re just going to stay here for a while.” He places the reins on a hook poking out of the wooden wall and guides the horse into one of the empty stalls, dusting himself off once he’s done.

I take this as my queue to enter. Sauntering in with a sly grin on my face, I close the door behind me and Armin jolts, spinning around to face me with fright gleaming in his eyes. Holding his hand on his chest, he stares at me, mouth agape and words coming out in short mumbles and jumbles. “W-what? Jean?! W-what are you—How did you—? _Jean_?!”

I decide to save the explanations for later since I believe that I probably don’t have much time, so I get straight to the point. “Armin, as much as it’s great to see you – it really is – I’m in a bit of a hurry and I need your help.”

“What are you _doing_ here?!” he almost screeches, disturbing one of the horses. Fists clenched and anger brewing, he storms over to me and grabs my arms, nails digging into my skin. “Jean, you can’t be here. Do you know what will happen to you if you’re caught?”

“Yes, that’s why I need to hurry and I probably _will_ get caught if you don’t help me.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“In a way, yes.”

Sighing, he lets go of me and laughs sourly as he realises that either way, he’s stuck in this mess that I’ve created.

I should feel bad and I sort of do, but I _really_ need to see Marc and that’s my top priority right now.

Armin’s laughter is slowly becoming hysterical and I’m starting to get worried. Just keep talking. Ignore it. “Do you know where Marc is?” I ask, breaking through Armin’s fits and all goes quiet as his face falls.

He stands straight staring me in the eyes as harshly as he can. “Are you crazy?” he deadpans. “I can’t help you with that. Just go home and forget about it. I don’t care _why_ you’re here or _how_ you even got in, but this is mad. _You’re_ mad. Just _please_ go home before both of us get caught.” With regret showing through his features, he points towards the door, signalling me to leave. I know that deep down he wants to help; that’s what friends do. But Armin’s not really the type to help me sneak around the castle… Unless…

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll go.”

His hand drops in disbelief and he throws me a quizzical glare, not quite sure if I’m telling the truth. Unfortunately for him, he trusts too easily and follows me as I sluggishly dawdle towards the door, feigning disappointment. As I step outside and the rush of senses hits me again, I wink at him and sprint off towards the sound of the music bellowing into the night.

“Jean!” Armin’s angry calls start to become distant the more I run and I slow down a little, waiting for the patter of his feet to come pretty quickly. And they do. A little later than I expected, but still they come, hard and fast as he catches up at me and I brace myself for his wrath.

He grabs me by my shoulder and slams me against the wall, fury burning through every part of him as he stares me down in a scorching glare. “Go. Home,” he says too quietly for comfort.

“Armin, _please_. Help me just this once. I promise I’ll—“

“You don’t understand, Jean. I literally _can’t_ take you to see him.”

“Is he with the prince?”

“Yes.”

“Then take me to see the prince.”

“I _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just…” he trails off, his shoulders going slack and his grip loosening around my shoulders. He looks lost for words and utterly overcome. “Jean, you can’t go see him. Not right now.”

“ _Why_?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Now I _know_ something’s up and I’m more determined than ever to find out. Shaking Armin’s hands away, I wrestle out of his grip and continue to follow the trail of music, keeping within the shadows. A very reluctant and terrified Armin copies my every step, admitting defeat and keeping his anxieties to himself.

“You’re going to get caught,” he mumbles as we sneak through an open doorway leading into a grand stone corridor, decorated with paintings and fine coloured cloths hanging on the dull, grey walls. We keep following the music and I ignore his warnings. “Jean, please reconsider this. You’re being irrational and you can talk to him tomorrow. I’ll get him to come to the shop or something, just _please_ don’t bother him today.”

We keep walking.

Every corridor we wander down looks the same as the last and I’m beginning to fear that we’re lost. I’m no longer relying on Armin’s help to get me through this stone maze as he probably _wants_ me to lose my way, but he stays by my side, warning me every now and again about how a guard could come around the corner at any moment or even if we do find Marc, we’ll still have to answer the prince of all people. “…and I thought you hated the prince,” Armin continues. “Isn’t he the last person you want to see?”

The call of the music and the smell of roasted meats become stronger as I poke my head around a corner and I watch as famous faces dressed in the finest clothes and colours you could imagine walk through a large wooden doorway and into a grand hall, with tables set around the outside and a space in the middle, filled with bright blurs spinning and weaving in and out of one another. Laughter and random babbles clash with the blaring music booming through the room, making the rhythm almost inaudible, yet the guests still dance with no worries or fears clouding their minds. Two thrones sit at the height of the hall, both empty, presumably for Duke Erwin and his nephew. I shiver at the thought of two pompous figures sitting in those chairs, watching their guests dance the night away and our taxes.

It’s bullshit. All of it.

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” I ask, glancing back at a now shivering Armin.

“I don’t know,” he trembles, fearing for both our lives.

Grabbing his wrist, I pull him forwards, closer to me so I can keep my voice low. “We’re going in,” I tell him.

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are. Or I can go in alone. Your choice.”

He holds his head in his hands and breathes deeply, trying to calm his shaking. “He’s going to kill me,” he murmurs.

“Who is?”

“You _know_ who, Jean.”

A door opens somewhere down the hallway and chatter begins to grow louder. A large group of nobles strides in, at least ten of them and head towards the great hall. That’s our chance to get in.

Before either of us can say another word, I drag Armin closer to the group and we tag onto the end of the line, trying to act as seemingly normal as possible. Surprisingly, no one notices us or our drastic differences in the way of attire and we sneak past the threshold without a single glance passed our way. It’s almost as if we’re ghosts.

Once we’re in and the full blow of the party hits us, Armin pulls me into the shadows and out of sight, his hand turning my wrist raw. “Alright, you got what you wanted. Now what?”

“We find Marc,” I command and we edge slightly closer to the crowd forming around the dance floor.

The music dies down and everyone’s voices cease. Armin and I freeze in our place and wait for the worst.

A short, plump man dressed in basic servant clothes appears in front of the two thrones, clearing his throat, requesting the guest’s attention. They had it already. Even _I_ know what’s coming next.

Puffing out his chest, the servant takes a deep breath and stares out into the crowd with a fake grin plastered on his face. “May I present His Grace, Duke Erwin of Trost and His Royal Highness, Prince Marco,” he gleams.

My heart gets caught in my throat as two figures enter the room and stand in front of the thrones. Only one of them stands proudly in their place, the other is visibly trembling and I can see every last part of him, even from this distance, down to the very last freckle.

The _prince_ stands next to his uncle draped in a vibrant scarlet tunic with puffed shoulders and a golden crown adorned with precious jewels of every kind placed neatly on his head, smiling weakly at his guests as he tries to hide what he’s done.

I feel sick as his face flashes before my eyes in silent screams and burning agony, memories from the nights before now becoming too real as I lay my eyes on him once again.

I know your face. I know your touch. I know your voice.

I know who you are now, Marco. I watch you die every night in my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do more description on what Marco's wearing, but I don't think that would be at the top on Jean's list of things to say, so I'll just say that it's basically your typical puffed sleeved Prince Charming thing because I'm sappy like that... (If you've seen the film 'Enchanted', you'll know what I mean).
> 
> Next chapter: Secrets, lies and revelations.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	8. Every Second Is A Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to a really, really short chapter!  
> It was meant to be longer than this, but I tried to write the rest of this chapter and it didn't make sense to continue so I just left it here and moved the other things that were meant to happen.  
> Anyhoo... Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and lovely messages you've all been leaving me. They really do mean a lot and I wouldn't be writing without them.  
> In other news, my lovely friend [munward](http://munward.tumblr.com/) made a really cool [fanmix](http://8tracks.com/jack-heichou/the-witch-s-son) for this fic and I suggest you go listen to it because it's really, really good and adds a little something idk...  
> No warnings for this chapter, just a lot of crying and Jean really needs to learn how to stop talking.  
> Enjoy!

Thousands of eyes stare at me as my own scan the crowd, attempting to take in each face, but there are so many of them it’s almost impossible. Every stranger’s features have contorted into frowns, gapes and gawks – some of them even look disappointed. I don’t blame them. After years of being kept in a cage, this is the largest number of people I’ve ever been in the same room as. And they’re all just… staring at me. It’s like I’m not even human to them.

They were probably expecting a handsome, well-built leader to walk out, but they got me instead. I’m no leader. I’m shaking in my boots just from the very sight of these people and I think they can tell how nervous I really am. I just want to run out to stop my stomach from churning and my fingers to stop trembling, but I know that I can’t.

Earlier, Erwin described this event as a “taste of the outside world”, but that’s not true. These people know nothing of the struggles that the citizens of Trost experience every day and have no real sense of freedom. These people are from the same background as me and I can’t relate to a single person in the room. They’re all here to get a look at me – to see if the rumours about me are true – not to do anything else. Curiosity is their master here and they can do nothing but gape at me in silence, not even making hushed comments to one another. The silence rakes down my back like claws, making me hunch in on myself and I just want it to end.

I need to be distracted.

Erwin clears his throat beside me and steps forwards, greeting the spectators with a warm grin and open arms. “Good evening, my dear guests. I’m so glad you all could make it as it really does mean the world to the both of us…” None of them are listening to him as he continues to chirp on. They’re all studying me in great detail and some of them have started making remarks. I’m too far away to hear, but it can’t be good and the nods of heads in agreement to silent words make me all the more nauseous. The weight of the crown on my head is making me dizzy from the pressure that awaits me and I really need to get out of here before I begin wheezing for breath. “…A toast, to Prince Marco on his birthday!” Erwin beams and the cheers of the crowd are like a knock to the chest as they all stand and hold their cups as high as they can, all of them smiling at me with false modesty.

I should probably smile too, just to _seem_ like I’m enjoying this. So I do. Slowly, I command my mouth to widen, exposing maybe a few too many teeth and amplify the “excitement” in my eyes. I probably look constipated and my thoughts are confirmed when Erwin turns to me with a look of concern spreading across his face like wildfire. I knew it. I look like an idiot. This entire occasion makes me feel sick and as much I _really_ appreciate all the thought Erwin’s put into this – and I really do, I’ve told him a thousand times – this isn’t what I want. This isn’t what’s right. The people need food, not jousting tournaments. They need better doctors, not knights in shining armour to rescue them. They need—

“Marco?” Erwin asks, shaking my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes. I’m just not feeling very well.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You say that every day,” he muses.

That’s because I don’t. Being here doesn’t feel right. I don’t _belong_ here. To put it bluntly, the only place I really feel like I’m accepted is in the little house that mirrors as a shop on the edge of the Forest of Tall Trees, that’s inhabited by a certain grump of a witch and his cat. But for now, it looks like that’ll be a secret I’ll take to my grave since I don’t think I’ll ever be welcome there again. Now I’m just floating through this world, trying to find a cause and a new dwelling to call my safe place.

Music begins to fill my ears as soft, muffled ricochets and I stand to attention again as the strangers begin to take their positions on the floor, each one linked to a partner, smiling and content. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious. At least they can actually let their feelings for the people they care about known. I didn’t even have the courage to tell him how I feel.

“Marco, why don’t you go dance,” Erwin hints. I had the feeling he’d say that eventually. Of course, in reality this is all just some get-up to find me a suitable wife. The vast number of female guests coincidentally my age certainly didn’t go unnoticed. And as much as they’re all beautiful and I’m sure they’re all lovely… they’re not Jean.

The musicians cramped into the corner lengthen the introduction to their piece whilst waiting for me to move from my spot and I feel all those eyes boring into me again. Anticipation clings to the air as every potential life partner lines up around the edge of the floor, all standing proudly in their silk gowns and ornate, polished jewels. It does nothing to me, seeing them all like that. I almost feel like I’m using them just to remind myself to move on. Move on. Marry. Become king. Produce an heir. Die. That is all that life promises me and this is the first step.

If I go down there, there’s no turning back. No more witchcraft. No more Jean. Down there, I become the very person I despise so much, but I have no choice. This is my life and I am bound to it until the end of time. No amount of magic will be able to stop that.

Bracing myself, I take a deep breath in hopes that I’ll breathe in my worries with it and step into the centre of the hall, waves of people parting as I make my way to the back of the room where a cluster of girls have formed.

Well, this is it. Choose wisely, Marco. Whoever you take will be by your side for the rest of your life.

Now that’s a chilling thought.

One of the girls, dressed in a deep claret gown, festooned with laced roses on her bodice and silver seams, smiles charmingly at me, twiddling a virtually glass-like black pendant between her fingers and murmuring something inaudible to herself. Her slate eyes spark as my own gaze upon her and… she _is_ rather beautiful.

Manners finally kicking in, I move my eyes away before I scare her for staring too long – although, I think it’s too late for that – and I can feel my skin burning. The other girls around her giggle softly at my vulgarity and she bites her lip gently to stop herself from joining them.

“I-I… uh…” I’m useless, I really am. “W-would you care to dance?” Well done, Marco, you actually formed words.

“I’d be honoured,” she gleams.

With a glint in her eyes, she slips her hand into mine and I lead her onto the floor, her friends all gasping in disbelief behind her. “She’s so lucky!” one of them whispers a little too loud. That comment makes my shoulders rise in an instinct of awkwardness and I can’t help but wonder what on _earth_ people have heard about me. If I’m honest, I’m not really that great.

Maybe I could ask… Wait. I don’t even know her name yet.

We pause in the centre of the room in the midst of the crowd of couples that have formed, patiently waiting for the music to get into full swing and we stand a fair distance apart as I remember that I am no longer at Maria’s tavern pressed up against another man, but in a castle, standing in front of a lady of poise and beauty with all eyes watching my every move.

“I-I never asked your name, I’m so sorry,” I laugh and she chuckles with me, still stroking that pendant of hers.

“It’s Hitch. Lady Hitch of Mitras,” she smiles, sickeningly sweet and our hands raise and meet in the space between us as the music begins at its proper pace.

As we dance, I can’t take my eyes off her. I’m not even paying attention to the steps I’m taking as I follow her lead and let her take control of the entire situation. Her pale hair flicks every time she spins and her smile widens with each stride. It’s like I’m under some kind of enchantment as I’m unable to pull away, even when my feet are aching from the continuous twists and turns she’s pushing the both of us in to. We don’t stop. I _can’t_ stop. And she keeps edging closer to me, not caring about my uncle’s watchful eye.

I need… I need…

“So how long have you been in Trost?” she asks confidently as we continue to step in time with everyone else, our palms lightly touching as we circle one another.

“Three weeks,” I smile. We change hands and turn in the other direction. “How about you?”

She laughs, almost menacingly and her thumb drags softly over my fingers. “I’m just visiting.”

A sharp clap of palms is heard and I realise that I’m completely out of time and I stumble ahead to keep up with everyone else. With her hand resting gently on top of mine and a slight giggle, she stomps around me, keeping her eyes fixed on me with a poised smile and I follow her gaze.

“You know, Your Highness—“

“Uh, y-you can just call me Marco.”

Smiling mischievously, she snakes her hand onto my hip and pulls herself in closer so there’s hardly any room between our chests. “You’re a lot taller than I expected,” she hums, pressing her torso against mine. The last time I was this close to someone, I was kissing them in the middle of a field, bathing in pure bliss until my thoughts took over. Her touch just reminds me more of him and my body is beginning to shift away from me as my memories begin to merge into reality again. It’s almost like he’s watching my every move. It’s like I can _feel_ him here. That burning sensation I feel in my chest whenever he’s near is flickering softly and it’s making me fearful.

“Are you alright?” Hitch asks, stepping away from me slightly as I notice that my breathing has become erratic.

“I’m fine.” I catch my breath and pull Hitch along as we continue on with the dance.  I can see Erwin out of the corner of my eye, nodding slightly in approval. By the looks of things, Hitch was a good choice in his opinion. Levi’s there too, unreadable and blank, listening intently to Erwin’s words. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning my future for me right here.

“You just seem a little on edge. Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

“I’m fine – really.” I give her my most convincing smile to assure her and she believes me, laughing loudly and squeezing my arms.

“You should loosen up, Marco. It is your birthday, after all,” she grins as we sway.

“I’m trying, trust me. I’m just not used to situations like this.”

“So I’ve heard. Why is it that we’ve never been granted the pleasure of meeting before?”

“I honestly have no idea,” I chuckle.

We spiral past a small clump of people on one side of the room in a flourish of rich colour, smiling and pirouetting like nobody’s watching.

Everything slows as I look into the crowd expecting to see strangers staring back at me. Only one face catches my eyes, and for a moment I’m sure that I’ve gone mad. Shadows crawl over his features, corrupting them and I almost don’t recognise him. But those eyes… I could never forget those eyes; the ones that I’ve seen gleaming with joy and then crumble into despair. I gaze further into the confinements of the shades and see my biggest fears, hopes and dreams all roll into one and become reality. They all morph in the darkness and twist into the shape of a very real, very familiar and _horrified_ face.

_…Jean?_

It’s only a small flash, but his image presents itself in the corner of my eye in a rushed blur as Hitch and I spin past.

I _saw_ him. I know I did. I didn’t even get a good look at his face but I _know_ it was him. His eyes… there was no spark left in them.

My heart wrenches as we continue on, his image flashing through my mind. His _smile_ radiating through me, and all thoughts of this place, Hitch, my uncle… everything… they all disappear.

I’m probably going mad. There’s no way that he could have even gotten into the castle without being seen and captured, but I need to make sure.

Swerving away from the planned steps of the dance and almost crashing into several couples, I drag Hitch back over to that small group concealing the shadows as she grumbles meaningless protests and stumbling questions. As we turn past I attempt to act nonchalant and I glance into the darkness one more time.

I freeze, the both of us coming to a halting stop. My heart’s thundering against my ribcage as our eyes meet and the horror and heartbreak in his is almost too terrifying to look in to. He looks like I’ve just ripped his heart out of his chest and stamped on it.

“Marco? Marco, are you sure you’re alright? What are you…?” Hitch’s concerns fade into muffled nothingness as I drop my hand from her waist and my body goes limp.

Now I’m _sure_ I’m not going mad, because there he is, on the verge of breaking down into tears because he _knows_. He knows that I’m a liar; a fake. I can almost hear his broken breaths from here.

Running a hand through his already dishevelled hair, he wipes away the tear rolling down his cheek and with one final distraught glance, he runs. Armin’s behind him, grabbing onto his arm and shooting me a face filled with apology and regret, but Jean shunts him away and keeps running.

“Jean?”

I don’t even look behind me as I abandon Hitch in the crowd and run after him, ignoring the cries behind me and I push through the guests, squeezing Armin’s shoulder as I pass him in some form of comfort. But Levi steps in front of me quicker than lightning, wearing a storm on his face before I can reach the exit… and Jean.

“Where are you going?” he snaps.

“Levi, _please_. I just need some time alone—“

“What for?”

I can feel myself choking back floods as I can feel him getting further and further away from me. “ _Please, Levi_!” I almost scream. “I am _begging_ you, just let me through.” Teeth gritted, fists clenched, anything to stop me from screaming. He keeps getting further away and I’ve barely moved. “Levi… _please_.” I say his name with such desperation that I can’t hold myself back any longer… and I break, shattering into pieces right in front of him as the feeling of Jean’s presence begins to fade into black.

“Marco, I don’t think you realise how serious this is,” he says. “You’re making a _huge_ mistake.” Grasping my arm in his iron grip, he looks at me with unease in his eyes – I’ve never seen him like this before and his expression is making my insides coil. “Are you really sure he’s worth it? Because if you run after him, you must accept the consequences that will follow, no matter how much it hurts… If you go after him, all of this is over.” He looks behind him at the crowd now all staring at me in concern and confusion at my sudden outburst… and Erwin, standing tall and heading towards me. “ _Is he really worth giving up this life for, Marco_?”

“He’s worth this life and a thousand more,” I breathe without thinking. The words roll off my tongue like raindrops and scatter as they hit the air, shattering Levi’s uncommon moment of care.

It’s like he turns to stone before my very eyes, the cold of his grip seeping through my clothes as he tenses at my decision. “You do realise that this decision will change your life forever?”

“I do.”

I’d rather live my life free and constantly on my toes than unhappy and secure. I _know_ how dangerous it is to be around Jean and involve myself in his work, but it makes me happy. _He_ makes me happy and I’m not prepared to give that up just yet.

Silently, Levi gives in and moves to the side, clearing the path for me and I sprint out of the hall, my feet clattering over the stone, bouncing off the walls, following me like a pack of wolves as I race down the corridor and out into the open air. The biting, crisp night breath freezes my forming tears to my skin and I stand over the gardens, taking in every shadow and movement, praying that it’s him.

Worry begins to take over. I can’t see anything.

Cool air chills me to the bone as the wolves that were chasing me catch up and attack, clawing at me and I’m panicking. If someone else finds him before I do… If he leaves before I can speak to him…

Breath short, sharp and helpless, I scan my surroundings and then, finally, I see him, a hurried shadow heading towards the gardens, glancing backwards and to his sides as he gets himself lost in the maze of shrubs and trees.

I run after him, not close enough to call out to him yet and follow him past a pattern of hedges, made to look like ‘The Wings of Freedom’ from above, and into a space of dark greens and shimmering clears. Keeping my distance, I run as fast as I can, the sound of his stifled sobs and chokes overwhelming the calming sound of the night.

“Jean!” I call out. He glances over his shoulder, but turns away and sprints even faster than before, his breath turning ragged each time his feet stumble forwards. He’s running out of breath and I’m catching up. “Jean, _please_! Talk to me!”

My steps slow as he does, doubling over to catch his breath on some steps leading to a stone archway, garlanded with ivy and red roses that look like deep crimson in the night. His hand clamps down on the wall for support as he catches his breath, which soon turns into stuttered cries.

“Jean, I—“

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” he snaps, unfurling away from the wall and turning to face me. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ to try and tell me that you’re sorry.” Wheezing from his near escape, he takes a moment to gasp in as much air as he can manage, rattling up all the anger he has inside him. I prepare myself for a screaming match.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I breathe to myself, but he hears me anyway.

Fury and misery is written across his skin like damnation and he finally breathes in enough of the putrid air between us to start screaming. “So you didn’t mean to lie to me? How the fuck does that work, Marc?” I stay silent. The worst thing I can do in this moment is aggravate him further. “It’s lies! It’s _all_ lies! Everything that happened was based on a _fucking_ lie!” His eyes are red raw from his tears and the anger he’s been holding in since he saw me is tumbling out in heaps of insults and rage. I can’t bear to look at him like this.

“Jean, just let me—“

“Why should I? Aren’t you just going to lie to me again?”

“No, of _course_ not!” I plead.  “It’s not like I’m _proud_ of what I did! I had my reasons to lie to you, Jean and I regret it – I really do.” The lump in my throat keeps getting bigger and I swallow as hard as I can to keep it down. ”Don’t you think that every day that went by when I heard you calling me by someone else’s name that I was crushed? I _hated_ it.”

“ _You_ hated it?” he scoffs. “How do you think _I_ feel?” Dragging his hands through his hair, he pulls on the strands in frustration and screws his eyes shut. “First you abandon me after I kiss you without an explanation, and now this?” Deep, stuttered breathing quivers out of him and I don’t think he can keep this final shred of composure for much longer. “It _hurts_ , Marc – or whatever the _fuck_ your names is. I… I…” He falls into silence, lost for words, and we both stare at the ground drowning in our own minds.

He shivers from the cool air around us and I approach him slowly, reaching out to him. His head shoots up the moment he feels me near him and backs away, his eyes glassing over again. A hysterical, breathy laugh leaves him and he bends over to hold his knees to keep upright from laughing so hard. He curtly stops, standing straight again and amber burns bright in a raging fire, engulfing me in self-hate. “You’re the _fucking prince_!” Jean screams, his face burning red from his outcry that came almost out of nowhere. “I don’t even— _Why?!_ Why lie to me for so long? Why did you _leave_ me when I needed you the most? What you _want_ with me, Marc?”

His questions leave me speechless and empty. I have no words to answer him even though I know _exactly_ what I want. I just don’t have the guts to tell him.

“ _What do you want_?!” he screams and his voice roars into the night air, leaving behind only choked back cries and tears.

“Jean, _please_ calm down. Someone will hear you if—“

“I don’t care!” He throws his hands up into the air in defeat and keeps clawing at his head. “I don’t even care anymore! Don’t come back if you want! I’m done! I’m done with this fuckery; I’m done with _you_ ; I’m done with monsters on my ass every single fucking day…” With each shattering insult, scream and shout he forces out, his voice becomes louder and louder, roaring and bellowing out in a strangled cry and I can’t take it anymore. I need to stop him – partly from the possibility that someone will find him, and partly from the stab wounds he’s creating and ripping wider every time he opens his mouth. “…Why do you get to move on so easily when I—“

“Jean, calm the _fuck_ down!” I rumble, and the moment those words leave my mouth he stumbles backwards in shock and leans against the wall, as far away from me as possible. I’m pretty shocked myself. What’s gotten into me recently? “Please… just calm down and _talk_ to me, not scream.”

Somehow, my pleas manage to reach him and he nods, curling in on himself a little more to keep his thoughts a little clearer and his words sharper. “Basically, I’m pissed off,” he mumbles.

“I gathered that one.”

He glares at me. “I have my reasons to be pissed off, Marc. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have taken me on if you knew who I was?” He shuffles a little, avoiding my stern gaze as he tries to think of a decent answer. Although, I know the answer already, it’s just that I want him to be honest with me, like I will be from now on with him… if there is such thing as “from now on” after this. “Jean, please be honest with me.”

Sighing, he finally gives me eye contact. “No, I wouldn’t because I can’t fucking stand you.”

He may as well have just stabbed me in the chest.

Feeling myself visibly cripple from the harshness in his voice, I begin to build walls around my broken body so I don’t break down in front of him. He needs answers, not a sobbing wreck. I am in the wrong, so I must give him what he wants – answers. I can’t break down from his insults. He’s angry and he has a right to be. His words are just the outcome of his rage.

“Which me?” I ask, choosing my words wisely. “The person you saw in the hall dancing with a woman; or the person you kissed like you never wanted to let them go?”

The look on his face is almost unreadable. Part of me thinks he’s going to kill me, yet another thinks he’s about to burst into tears.

“You’re the same person,” he says dryly.

“We’re not. Marc and Marco are two completely different people. Marco is the one you saw in that hall and Marc is the one you kissed. The infamous Prince Marco is what everyone expects me to be – a courageous leader who can take care of this kingdom, get married and produce heirs—“ Jean scoffs. I ignore him and carry on anyway. “But _Marc_ is who I really am. The person you kissed is who I am. I can’t _stand_ all of this.” I look down at myself in disgust as the red of my tunic almost blinds me. And then there’s the crown that’s _still_ sitting like ignorance on my head, and I slide it off, twiddling it between my palms. Then I look at Jean, who’s looking at me the same way I see myself – repulsed.

Slowly, I approach him. With nowhere to go and the wall pressed up behind him – or his curiosity—he doesn’t move and holds still as I gently place the crown on his head. He looks radiant in it. It fits him perfectly, slanted somewhat, but it’s _him_. It’s who he is. A leader; a hero; a lifesaver. He has his issues – we all do – but it makes him who he is. It makes him the person that I…

“I don’t deserve the title I’ve been given, Jean. Someone like you would make a much better king than I _ever_ will…” I pause and think very carefully about my next chosen words. They may be entirely true, but I’m just apprehensive of how Jean will take them. This will either ruin everything we’ve ever had, or solve this.

Placing my hands on his shoulders, I look at him with as much sincerity as I can and I can feel my nerve growing.

And now it’s make or break. Fight or flight. I’ve spoken to Bertholdt about this and this is what we planned. These are the words I must say to him – the truth. The honest to whatever’s out there, crystal clear truth. And it burns in my gut like fire, the sparks fighting to be free as they dance on my tongue.

I hold him tighter, taking in everything I can of him in case this is the last time I’ll ever see his face again. From his strong, angular jawline to the saffron of his eyes, he will forever be a mystery to me. He is the fire that rages in a child’s imagination and the bitter sweetness of a sunset. He is the memory that will be etched into my bones forevermore and it is him that I will remember, the darkness that surrounds him and his ever-growing light when I am resting.

He is and always will be my favourite memory.

“…Jean, I would give up _all_ of this…” Deep breath. Keep going. He’s listening. Just two more words. The truth. “… for you.”

He exhales sharply, as if he hadn’t been breathing the whole time and reaches up to the crown on his head, feeling every gem and embellishment. For the first time tonight, he smiles wearily and trembling fingers trace over my cheek light as a feather, and linger there like silent promises as my stomach does backflips. He’s staring at me in disbelief.

I need to say something to cut this unbearable silence between us.

“Jean, I’m falling for you.”

Quiet. Even our breaths turn into nothing in the night. It’s so quiet you could hear a raindrop roll off the surface of a leaf and he’s still staring at me, his lips quivering as his fingers glide from my cheek to me neck. Shaken, he breathes and he holds my forehead against his, the amber spark in his eyes finally returning.

“ _Marco_ …” The first time he says my name is like a weight has been lifted off my chest. He even smiles when he says it as if it’s no longer a burden for him. It sounds incredible rolling off his tongue and I smile back. “Marco, I…” He pulls me into him and I bury myself into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around me like he has so many times before, but none of them had a meaning like this.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For everything. I wanted to tell you – I really did, but I just got so scared because I didn’t want to lose you that I didn’t. When you kissed me, the guilt took over and I panicked. Please forgive me,” I beg softly, stroking the soft skin over his collarbone.

As he sighs I cringe, dreading the worst. Fingers lace in my hair and a thumb runs across the back of my head and I hold onto him for dear life, not willing to let go.

“I forgive you.”

When I look up at him again, he smiles softly, still without a clue as to what he’s doing, dazed and in disbelief. Drunk on the night air and with the slightest of sly grins, he leans in closer to my ear and breathes gently. “Marco,” he whispers, “I’m falling for you more and more every day and I have been for a while now.”

I stand to my full height and rest my head against his, staring into his ignited eyes and becoming captivated by the tiny sparks in them. There’s my Jean. I’ve got my Jean back.

“Are you going to kiss me, or what?” he grins.

I don’t need to be asked twice.

Pressing him further up against the wall so we’re chest to chest, I kiss him. It’s small; it’s chaste; it’s not what I’m used to. But it’s sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted, so I press my lips against his again for more. They meld together softly as I melt into him, running my hands through his hair and not caring as the crown slides off and falls to the floor. Carefully, Jean wraps his hands around the back of my neck and presses against me almost needily, forcing his lips against me harder and grappling against my strands of hair. Sparks of heat burn in my gut as he drags his tongue along my bottom lip and lets me dissolve into him, his strong hands the only thing keeping me upright as I become intoxicated by his taste and the way he moves his mouth along mine. It’s heaven. _He’s_ heaven. There can’t be anything sweeter than this ecstasy I’m being pulled through. How can something this good be deemed so wrong?

“Marco?” A thankfully distant call of my name shakes both of us and we stop as Jean pulls away from me quickly, digging his nails into my arms.

“Shit,” he breathes. His breath begins to quicken as he descends into panic overdrive and his head darts around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Marco?”

Nails sink into me harder. “I need to get out of here. We can’t be seen like this.”

Hushing him, I smooth my fingers across his cheeks to comfort him. I’m not panicking at all. There’s no need to. “We’re fine. No one’s going to find us.”

“What makes you say that?” he frowns.

I reach down beside him to pick up the crown and hold it tightly. “Because the voice is coming from the complete opposite direction. They’re too far away. We can get out by…” I step away from him and grin, holding out my free hand as the riskiest idea I’ve ever come up with slips into my head. “Come with me,” I beckon.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Hesitantly, he grabs hold of my hand and as the call of my name is heard again, gradually coming closer and we run through the gardens, faster that the air gliding over our skin.

Every now and then I glance back at him to make sure he’s not hyperventilating, but he isn’t. He’s smiling, stifling giggles as I drag him through the hedgerows, getting closer to the kitchen door. My name is no longer in our hearing distance, so I think we’ve just about escaped.

What I’m doing is risky, I know this. But a part of me wants to be able to show Jean what my life here is like, so that next time I’m complaining about it, he’ll understand.

The tiny wooden door to the kitchen encloses a hubbub of chattering staff and meticulous cooks, all preparing for the celebrations that have been going on without me for goodness knows how long. I’m just hoping that Levi can keep as many people as he can from following me. I trust him to do that since I’ve probably indirectly placed Jean’s freedom into his hands.

Pushing open the door, Jean and I are hit by the glorious smells of fresh meat and fine meals, each one roasted to the very point of perfection. Jean practically drools at the sight as we walk in and he grips my hand a little tighter.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine. They won’t do anything,” I reassure him as we’re met by the eyes of the kitchen staff, yet they just smile warmly at us and let us carry on like normal. They probably think that Jean’s a guest or something… Well, most likely not, but I know they won’t question.

“Marco, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Then we’re walking down the miles of stone corridors and climbing the hundreds of stairs that lead up, up, up into the very atmosphere of the castle – the coldest, loneliest corners where I spend the majority of my days.

He trudges up the final staircase a few steps behind me, dragging me down with him as he pants like he’s just climbed a mountain. “How are you still breathing?” he wheezes, falling to the floor in a flail once reaching the top and rubbing the stone like it’s his bed.

“Jean, I climb those stairs every day,” I laugh as I lean against my door.

“ _Why?_ Are you fucking crazy?” comes his muffled reply as he buries his face further into the stone.

Creaking open the door, his head simultaneously rises with the sound. “Jean, this is my bedroom.”

And then he smirks. “ _Bedroom_?” he says slyly, the corners of his mouth peaking like his sudden interest. “Isn’t it a little soon to be thinking about that?”

My cheeks begin to burn as I laugh nervously. “I wasn’t thinking about it like _that_. It’s just somewhere to get away from everyone else.”

“ _Oh really_?”

“ _Jean_!”

He stands and raises his hands in defeat, laughing at his uncouth sense of humour. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, joining me under the threshold and wrapping his arms around my waist. A gentle kiss is pressed against my cheek and he rests his head in the crook of my neck. “But won’t this be the first place people will come to look for you?” he asks.

“And climb _those_ stairs?” I laugh. “The only people brave enough to face those steps are Levi and Petra.” Warmth leaves my neck as he straightens and the worry in his eyes makes me question my choice of words. “They’re fine, I promise! I know Levi’s, well… Levi, but he wouldn’t say anything and Petra was the first person I told about you.”

“What about me, exactly?”

“Not this—“ I look down at our situation to see that there’s no space between us. In a way, that makes me relax slightly, but we should probably go in soon. “—Just that I… _see_ you.”

“Well, I think this is a little more than _seeing_ me,” he laughs. And then, once we’ve fallen into silence and staring into each other’s electrified eyes, we’re kissing again and we stumble into my room.

Slamming the door behind me, we crash into one another and he pushes me up against the wall, letting his hands roam wherever they please and the crown slips from my grip, clanging against the floor like an unwanted toy. One of Jean’s hands runs up my chest and caresses the back of my neck and two fingers hook around the cord of my necklace. He pulls away, grinning and he pulls me along by the piece of thread around my collar until the back of his legs collide with my bed and he tumbles backwards, pulling me down with him.

I land on top of him and the weight backfires on me, making my chest heave. So I collapse into him, listening intently to his playful laughter as we attempt to hide our embarrassment.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing it,” he marvels, twisting his fingers in my hair.

“I did tell you that I never take it off,” I mumble into his skin.

Calloused fingers glide from my mussed hair to my chin and he tilts it upwards to face him. Manoeuvring us both onto our sides, he shuffles us further up the bed and we nestle there, intertwined and peaceful.

Long, caring fingertips run over my face like it’s silk and he smiles, breathing deeply as we settle into a comfortable silence. I can hardly see him in this light, but the presence of quirked lips is there and so are the amber embers of his eyes. My heart hammers in the dark as the feeling of him being near again is too real to be true and I’m convinced that I’m dreaming.

“It’s so dark in here,” I breathe. “I can barely see you.”

“I can fix that,” he whispers into my neck and he turns onto his back, holding his hands in that unmistakeable ball shape above his chest. I follow him into the same position and lie silently next to him, knowing what will come next. “Put your hands on mine.”

He takes me by surprise and my eyes widen, asking if he’s being serious, but he nods and I follow his command.

The very moment I touch him, my skin begins to heat up and the familiar, peachy glow illuminates our palms and stretches through the cracks we’ve made. I laugh and the light grows stronger, radiating over Jean’s elated face and probably mine too. We grin at one another and then at the tiny sun we’re creating together. And when Jean opens up his palms, the whole room explodes with a brilliant brightness that is stronger than I’ve ever seen before, unwavering, different to the last time this unfolded in front of my eyes. He feels strong; he’s smiling; and the light keeps growing the longer I’m near him. We erupt into ecstatic laughter and he throws the orb into the air, the flare shining brighter the closer we become.

He’s so full of energy and life in this moment that the power doesn’t drain a single drop out of him. We lie there, clinging onto one another, bathing in our own light that is brighter than any star, and he kisses me over and over again, not tiring of the way I giggle into his lips every time he does.

“Watch this,” he smiles and his arm raises above us, fist clenched. Fingers span out in a flash like sun rays and the orb floating above us shatters, tiny, glowing fragments gliding down slowly like illuminated snowflakes and they just keep coming. My jaw falls and I sit up, letting the tiny remnants brush against my skin as they fall and disappear into my sheets.

“Jean, this is incredible,” I gasp, holding my hands out and catching the beads of light in my palm. “It’s beautiful.”

He sits behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pressing his lips into my shoulder and he slides his hands up my body and along my arms until our fingers entwine. “You’re the cause of this,” he whispers. “Different people awaken different auras in me. Some are good; some are bad – and some are fucking terrifying. But you bring out the best in me.” He nuzzles into my neck and kisses lightly at the skin there as the rain continues to fall, each drop filling me with its light. “I’ve never made a light this bright and it’s because I’m with you. This is _all_ because of you.”

As much as his words make my heart flutter and I fall back against him more, he can't give me the credit for all of this. It's him that's doing this. He's helped himself to become this strong. “Stars can't shine without darkness,” I tell him softly. “It's not me doing this – it's us.”

When I turn my head to look at him, he's grinning from ear to ear – the biggest smile I've ever seen. The light swirling around us dances with the amber flames in his eyes and it becomes a forbidden, tender devotion between the two. It looks like fire and ice – the eternal battle between the pair to live in equity.

Placing his hands on my hips, he twists me into his lap and so that I'm facing him. Everything is close to everything and I'm not sure whether to be panicky or incited by this. Jean links his hands with mine and cranes his head upwards. Our lips meet with something more than what I felt earlier and I find myself pushing him against me even harder. Fumbling, our hands break and jump to each other's bodies, searching them for new emotions that I've never felt before. Desire coils and burns in my gut and I push the two of us backwards, falling into the comfort of my pillows. With my mouth still desperately pressed against his, I run my hands through his hair as he cups my cheeks, holding me close to his chest as we stumble in the light.

A sudden click from the other side of the room startles both of us and I pull away from him, the shock casting us into darkness as the light dissipates.

“Marco? What are you—” The voice is cut off by a gasp and Petra trips into the room.

“Shit,” Jean breathes, bolting upright and holding me tighter.

He's not even running away. He's actually staying to defend me. I don't believe it.

Not even worried in the slightest about Petra staring wide-eyed at the two of us, I wrap my arms around Jean's neck and allow him to hide in the comfort of my neck. She walks closer to the bed, examining the two of us – the nearer she gets, the more Jean shakes.

“Marco Bodt, explain yourself. Do I have to get Er–“

“No!” Nails dig into my back as I retort and hot, ragged breath becomes dewy against my skin. “Petra, please can you close the door?”

As Petra turns away with a scowl, Jean moves in closer to me, clinging onto my tunic for dear life. “Please don't let me die,” he whispers.

“You're not going to die. Everything will be fine – it's only Petra.” The way he looks at me makes me think I'm an idiot. Clearly he's forgotten what I said to him earlier.

The door shuts and Petra turns to us again – frowning and arms folded. “Who are you?”

Jean jolts as he realises that the question is aimed at him. Slowly and with reluctance, he withdraws away from the safety of my skin and faces Petra, keeping me firmly in his lap and his hands pressed against my back. “Jean Kirschtein,” he mumbles. “I'm the witch's son.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“To wish His Highness a happy birthday.”

I can't help but cringe a little. The cockiness in his voice isn't going to go down well with Petra, I can feel it.

“ _Jean_ ,” I wince, my head falling onto his shoulder.

“And _are_ you having a good birthday, Marco? Because your uncle thinks you're having an awful time,” Petra sighs.

“N-no, it's fine. Jean just... We – I...” I shut up before I make a fool of myself.

A comforting hand circles my back gently as Petra's weight falls at the end of the bed. “She's right,” Jean murmurs. “You should get back to your guests.”

That smile that I've grown to love faces me when I leave his shoulder. “But what about you?”

“I have a grumpy-ass cat to feed and my own ass to put to bed. Shouting at you all night's worn me out,” he laughs.

“Are you still angry with me?”

“A little, but I'll get over it.”

“Good,” I smile. “So I'm allowed to see you tomorrow, then?”

“You can come see me whenever you want,” he laughs.

Reluctantly, I slip out of his lap and face Petra with a blush burning on my cheeks. Jean stands and heads towards the door.

“I wouldn't if I were you,” Petra warns. He comes to a standstill.

“How do I get out, then?”

“Out the window,” I say with as much seriousness as I can manage. His eyes widen as he walks to the window and gapes at the sudden drop before him. “Jean, that's how I get out. If I can manage it, you can.”

“Someone's got a mean streak,” he smirks, grasping the windowsill. I join him by the opening, my blush still prominent as Petra watches our every move. “Maybe if you gave me a good luck kiss I'll make it?”

My cheeks burn and my shoulders tense as I look at Petra apologetically. Giggling, she raises her hands and turns away. “I won't look, don't worry,” she chirps.

Once I'm sure she definitely can't see a thing, I close the distance between Jean and I and we kiss one more time. It's bitter-sweet as the thought of him leaving me snakes its way into my head. After not being with him for what felt like years, I’m unwilling to let him slip away again and return to my mapped out future downstairs.

“Good luck,” I breathe.

“I think you’ll need it more than I will.”

Sadly, he’s right. He gets to go home to the place I would happily spend the rest of my days and comfort his cat; whereas I return to the celebrations, talks of marriage and strangers crowding me. Then I’ll go to bed and encounter Jean again, but only in a more sinister meeting than this one. The next time I’ll see Jean will be in the darkest moments of the night, where he’ll be ripping me limb from limb whilst I still breathe out of blood-corrupted lungs.

I think I’ll need all the luck and reassurance I can get.

When Jean leaves through the window, I watch him closely from the blackness of my bedroom as he stumbles his way down the wall and disappears into the night, looking up at me one last time, waving and smiling as he goes. As he turns to black, I turn to see Petra standing in the centre of my room with a truly solemn expression holding her face and clasping my crown in her palms.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Marco,” she sighs, running her thumb over the gems. “I won’t say anything… but you need to be careful. This entire situation just got a whole lot worse and you must accept the consequences when they come.” She approaches me slowly and stands grounded and terrified. Gently, she lifts the crown onto my head and I’m cast back into the life I no longer want. “And they will come,” she says, barely over a whisper. The chill in her voice sends a shiver up my spine, paralysing me.

I don’t follow her as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

As the darkness envelopes me, all I can think about is the way he smiled at me so many times in one night, and what on earth made him forgive me. This is my second chance and I’m not going to mess up this time.

Second chances are much more terrifying than first chances, because the second time round you know what you’re risking. I think Jean knows this. And I know exactly what he’s risking.

I just can’t understand why he would possibly give up everything… all for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking excited about the next chapter and you should be too, trust me.
> 
> Next chapter: As time moves on, the shadows become stronger and don't stop until you've lost everything -- including your sanity.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	9. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say, so prepare yourselves.  
> First of all, this is kinda a happy birthday present for my bffl, [faranya](http://faranya.tumblr.com/). I literally worked my ass off to get this updated on her birthday, so she'd better be happy...  
> Second of all, I just want to say a huge mahoosive thank you to my lovely furiendo, [squirrelseatpizza](http://squirrelseatpizza.tumblr.com/), for creating [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/100179276904/squirrelseatpizza-so-today-i-spent-some-hours) hella cute fanart from the previous chapter. Go check it out, it's super cute!  
> Third of all, I know I say this every time, but the comments, kudos, messages, bookmarks etc. really do mean a lot and it's basically down to you guys as to why I'm writing this. So thank you so much for all your support, it's amazing as always.  
> Fourth, this is a huuuge chapter. There was literally no way I could cut this down and I think I got a little carried away towards the end. Sorry!  
> Speaking of the end, WAHOO SMUT! Yeah. Smut. I actually did it. Eventually.  
> So, warnings: mentions of death (don't worry J and M are safe), Jean being a depressing shit and smut.  
> I think that is all I have to say, so enjoy!

After yesterday’s unusual spell of sunshine, Trost is really paying for it today. Whatever good that managed to worm its way into the sky yesterday has been replaced by retaliating, screaming winds, and rain can’t be too far away. Everything around me is jolting at random moments from the sudden gushes of gust. Gumbie’s hiding under the shelves to get away from it all.

But there’s Marc— No. Wrong. I can’t call him that anymore.

But there’s _Marco_ walking through the field like he fucking owns it and a very devious part of me secretly wishes that he’ll fall down a rabbit hole soon. I suppose you could call it payback for what happened last night.

I’m not quite used to it yet. All last night I stayed up thinking about _how the fuck is this even going to work_ and that _I’m falling for the prince who I’m supposed to hate._

Right. The prince. His Royal Highness, Prince Marco is my apprentice and last night I shouted at him, screamed at him, called him every name under the sun and then proceeded to kiss him until my lips were raw.

Basically, I’m in deep shit and I have no idea what’s going on in my head at the moment, and if I’m honest, I didn’t expect him to show up today – not after all the insults I threw at him last night.

Marco doesn’t fall into any rabbit holes. In fact, he dodges every single one and saunters into the shop with a massive grin slapped across his face.

“Good morning, princess,” I wink as he steps through the door.

Exasperated, he sighs, pushing the door closed only using his forehead. “We’re going to start that now, are we?”

“Of course. Think of it as my revenge.” Taking great amusement in the upturned corners of his lips, I laugh as he turns to face me, leaning against the door and attempting to look serious.

“So you _are_ still angry with me,” he laughs, flicking his windswept hair away from his face. Like it has every time before, it falls back perfectly into its neat, raven parting.

I stand up, leaning across the counter and spreading my hands out along the wood to edge just that tiny bit closer to him. “Yes, Marc—” My face falls as I realise my mistake. “Shit.”

I think this is going to take a while to get used to.

“It’s fine,” he smiles sensitively. Slowly, he comes closer until we’re face to face, almost as close as we were last night. He leans into me, but as soon as he realises what he’s doing, he stops. Wide eyes stare back at me in apology and I nod, asking him to continue. And he does. Hesitantly, we draw closer together until he places the tiniest, purest peck on my lips.

“Having second thoughts?” I ask. I must admit, that was a pretty pathetic kiss compared to what we were doing last night.

“N-no, I’m just not used to it. Sorry,” he blushes, lowering his head and giggling softly to himself.

Shaking my head, I clamber over the counter and stand in front of him. I tilt his head upwards to face me and I place his shaking hands on my hips, placing my own over his peppered cheeks. “Try again,” I whisper, stepping even closer into him and he wraps his arms around my waist. Soft, brown, calming eyes watch my every move and then he’s pulling me against him, pressing his lips against me and kissing me like he did last night – like he means it.

A clap of thunder shocks the both of us and we jump apart to the sound of Gumbie’s hissing, his actual body nowhere to be seen. We laugh at each other, finally allowed to be ourselves again and Marco perches on the edge of the counter, smiling like an idiot.

“So what are we doing today?” he asks, folding his arms expectantly.

“I thought I’d tell you a story… two, in fact.”

“Oh really?” His eyebrows rise in curiosity and he makes himself more comfortable on the wood, listening intently.

“Wait here,” I command, and I grin slowly as I walk away and into the back room. Marc’s—oh for fucks sake— _Marco’s_ face is the very meaning of mystification as I leave him sitting there alone with his thoughts – most likely of “what the fuck is he doing?”

The chest I’d found in the back room this morning is still sitting pretty on my desk, with the clasp half closed because that thing was really fucking stiff. Now the only issue I have is getting it into the main shop.

I tried to lift it up myself earlier, but my arms gave out on me when the chest was a fraction off the desk and crashed back down onto the wood. Thank fuck the desk was even _there_. If it hadn’t, I probably would have broken my toes.

Whoopee-fuckin’-doo, I’m a weakling.

“Marco!”

“What?”

“Come help me with the thing!”

“ _What_?”

“Come help me with the fucking thing!” I shout with slightly more annoyance. He’s been around me long enough to understand my word vomit, so he shouldn’t be questioning me. Unfortunately, I know he will.

“What thing?” he shouts back.

Called it.

“Just get your fucking ass in here before I drag you!” I call, not managing to suppress the laughter that accompanies it.

That seems to have motivated him. Not long after the irritation in my voice has set in I hear rushed footsteps coming closer. And then he’s standing in the doorway, staring in horror at the gigantic chest on the desk. “What the hell is that?” he breathes unnervingly.

“A chest,” I deadpan, creating a frame out of my arms around its immense stature.

“I can see that,” he laughs, “but what’s _in it_?”

Beaming, I slowly unclasp the latch and lift up the lid, the rusty hinges sticking slightly as I pull at the covering.

Intrigued, Marco comes closer and peers into the deep, wooden chest. “Oh my… Is that…?”

“Mhm. Ymir finally got her ass in gear and sent us our stuff.”

We both gaze in wonder at the sight of pure silver and black before us. On top of a blanket of dark leather and cloth, lie blades so sharp you could cut yourself just from looking at them, a bow so strong it could hold the weight of five men, and arrows as light and agile as a feather. Each and every single one coated in the finest silver from the In Between.

We take one look at each other and dig into our new toy chest. Of course, Marco goes straight for his bow and arrows, complete with a leather back quiver, decorated with ornate swirls and twists. He takes out his entire kit and stares at it in awe, running the point of one of the arrows over his finger. A small drop of blood appears at the tip and he turns to me with a smile. “They’re perfect,” he grins, almost menacingly.

I didn’t get a good look inside earlier because I was too pissed off about the fact that Ymir had decided to just dump the fucking chest on my desk, crushing all my papers. So when I look inside properly (and with a little more enthusiasm), I’m greeted by quite the beautiful sight that is my very own lean, mean, killing… thing.

The blade itself, of course, is made of pure, gleaming silver that shines with almost no light to reflect off it. It’s perfectly straight until the end where it curves upwards in a smooth and elegant bend, matching the engraved, coiled hilt. It’s perfect in every way and…

Wait, what the fuck? There’s _more_?

Marco delves deeper into the chest and pulls out tiny, hilt-less daggers that look like they were made to be lodged into the side of someone’s head. They’re the perfect size to fit into… well, into Marco’s quiver.

“I think those are yours,” I say, holding one of the shards in my palm. They’re as light as air. I can hardly feel them.

Marco’s eyes light up as he takes in his new weapons and smiles. Isn’t it awful that I’m turning the innocent prince into a killer? I don’t think so. I think he was born to do this. It’s the way he holds his bow so tightly, and the way he flips the daggers in his palms with no effort at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been trained to do this all his life.

The sounds of winds howling shock the two of us out of our daydreams and Marco sets down his new play-things. Keeping out of the way of my blade still lying in the chest, he takes out our leather-clad armour and holds the top half up to himself. It looks like it could fit a twelve year old.

Taking out the other set, I hold it up to my chest. And just as I thought – it’s a fucking tent on me.

“I think this one’s yours,” Marco laughs, switching the two sets with me. He begins to feel the material meticulously, rubbing over every fragment. And then he finds the hood. His mouth falls open into an ‘o’ shape and hangs the hood over his head, instantly groaning by the sudden weight pulling him down.

Although it doesn’t look like much, this leather armour is stronger than any made of metal.

“We’re going to look like assassins,” he beams, peeking out from under the hood.

“ _Monster_ assassins,” I correct him and we burst into laughter.

Shrieking hisses come from the main shop and a very frightened Gumbie scampers into the back room and slides under a shelf. What a scaredy-cat.

As our laughter dies down, Marco places our new toys back into the chest and closes it with a smile. “It all looks incredible,” he breathes.

“That’s Ymir for you.”

Marco perches on the edge of the desk that isn’t being taken up by the chest and folds his arms. The way he’s looking at me is making my insides perform backflips and yet I can’t avoid his gaze. It’s like I’m addicted to it.

His lips move, but I don’t hear what he says. I’m too busy actually _looking_ at them to hear what’s coming out.

“Jean? Can you hear me?”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Thought so,” he giggles. “You said there was something else you wanted to tell me.”

“Oh, right.” Now this is the story I’m not as enthusiastic about telling. Since Marco told me the truth last night about who he really is, I feel as if I should tell him the truth about something I did a few weeks ago – something that might affect his view on me for good. “Right. So, uh… I may have done something pretty dumb a few weeks ago.” Bending over, I drag a very grumpy and unwilling Gumbie out from underneath the shelves and hold him firmly in my arms, despite his hisses and grumbles. Marco laughs as Gumbie protests, but I keep him close to my chest anyway.

The cat needs to grow the fuck up and face his fear of loud noises and this is the best way to do it.

“What?” Marco asks and I’m shaking just from the thought of it.

“I may have given someone an attraction spell.”

“ _Who_?”

“Hitch.”

“Hitch?” he repeats as if he didn’t quite hear me and I nod.

The winds scream, battering against the windows and Gumbie begins to wriggle in my arms, yowling in horror. But I’ve got a pretty firm grip on him – he’s not going anywhere.

“Yes, Hitch. The _charming_ woman you were dancing with last night.”

“You know Hitch?” He starts worrying at his lip in nervousness, when really it should be _me_ who’s nervous going by what I’m about to tell him.

“Mhm. A little too well.”

“How?”

“You don’t want to know, trust me.” Squinting in confusion, he leans in closer, prodding me for an answer. He’s not getting one. “She came in a while ago looking like this—“ I pause to demonstrate Hitch’s petrifying expression that I was greeted with that very fine day – the day all of this began –  screwing up my face like an old piece of parchment and glaring at Marco. He laughs as Gumbie meows, probably telling me that I look like an idiot, and he struggles out of my arms, flopping onto the floor. The traitor _willingly_ waddles over to Marco and jumps up onto the desk next to him, curling up into a fluffy blob and making himself comfortable.

He won’t stay like that for long.

“Why’d she come in for an attraction spell?” Marco asks,

I laugh, trying to cover up my nervousness. I really hope he doesn’t get me executed for this.

Frowning, he finally seems to be catching my drift. “ _Jean_?” he says slowly, the longer he drags it out, the more edgy I get.

Convinced that I’ve picked up some of his traits during the time we’ve spent together, I rub the back of my neck like he does and start looking elsewhere in the room. The shelves are looking pretty dusty. I should probably clean those soon. Oh, and the bookcase could use rearranging.

It’s no use. I can feel his glare becoming harsher by the moment, and I sigh, keeping my eyes locked on the rotting floorboards. “It was meant for you.”

At first, all is silent except for the sound of Gumbie’s heavy breathing, and I expect him to start shouting at me at any moment… but he doesn’t. When I look up, he’s smiling—grinning, even.

“Well, it didn’t work, did it!” he laughs loudly, leaving his perch and trapping me in his arms.

I’m still trying to get over how nonchalant he is about this, so I stay still and let him embrace me, laughing into my hair and placing minute pecks on my forehead.

“But you danced with her,” I breathe, letting my head thud into his chest.

“But I love _you_.”

_Oh no._

He didn’t, did he? Pinch me if I’m dreaming, but… did he just say the ‘L’ word?

Slowly, I lift my head away from his chest and I’m positive that the look on my face is complete panic because his face falls the moment our eyes meet.

I’m pretty fucking sure he just said the ‘L’ word.

What the—

“Jean!” a voice from outside screams, almost drowned out by the wind. Gumbie stirs and leaps off the desk, cowering under the shelves.

Ignoring the scream, I keep my eyes on Marco, who’s still holding me close to him and looking anxious. “What did you just say?” I ask, trying not to let the panic that’s screaming in my head roll off my tongue.

“I…I…”

“Marco, did you just –?”

“Jean! For goodness sake help me!” the voice screams again.

“Oh for fucks sake!” I shout, pulling myself out of Marco’s hold. “What do these people want _now_?!” Grabbing Marco’s trembling hand, I storm into the main shop and kick open the front door in a rage, dragging him outside into the stabbing air.

A different kind of scream is rumbling through the atmosphere, growing louder and louder the longer I listen. Cries of my name, teeming with desperation and hysteria become more familiar the closer the sound gets.

Armin’s distant face rides into the field on the back of a reinless brown horse, grasping onto its mane to stay upright and charging over the grassland as if it were a matter of life or death. Judging by Armin’s screams, I think it is.

Whilst the horse is still bolting towards us in frenzy, Armin rolls off to one side, landing in the grass.

“Armin!” I scream. “Armin, are you alright?!” Much to my relief, a weary arm reaches upwards and waves droopily at me. The horse whinnies in realisation of its missing rider and comes to a halt, trotting around in circles in terror and making a really fucking loud racket.

Marco and I take one horrified look at one another and start sprinting towards him as he heaves himself out of the undergrowth, groaning and rubbing his lower back. When we reach him, he slings his arm around my shoulders, complaining about his spine and we begin to head towards the shop.

Armin raises his head as we near the door and shakes his head frantically. “No, no, no. We can’t go inside,” he demands.

“Why not?” Marco asks. “Armin you’re hurt, you need—“

“We can’t leave _him_.” He turns his head to face the horse, who’s staring at us, frightened as we abandon it.

And then I see why. Armin isn’t the one who needs help... _It’s Eren._

“Fuck,” I exhale and I switch my shoulder with Marco’s. He frowns at me, almost as concerned as I am, and I cautiously approach the horse with my hands held out in front of me in surrender. He lets me come close with no apprehension and for the first time, I see that it really is him. It’s those striking eyes that have remained exactly the same, even in this unfortunate form.

Slowly, I rub his nose, trying my best to calm him. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now. “Eren,” I whisper, holding his eyes in line with mine. “Everything will be alright.”

He huffs, his hot breath that still smells like alcohol sticking to my skin.

“No, really, you’ll be fine. Just let me explain a few things, alright.”

Eren shakes his oversized, felt-like head, nearly whacking me in the face with his humongous nose. I take this as the perfect opportunity to get my own back for all those years of shitty nicknames.

“Hey, watch where you’re flinging that horseface of yours,” I grin slyly. Bad idea. Eren grumbles, backing away from me bit by bit and lowering his head, threatening to charge at me. “Woah, woah. Point made, I’m sorry!”

“Jean, leave Eren alone! Don’t you think he’s been through enough?” Armin sighs. I turn to find both him and Marco only a few paces behind me – Armin scowling harder than I’ve ever seen him, and Marco still looking as if he has no idea what’s going on.

Oh, Armin. You have no idea.

“Wait, what? _Eren_?” Marco’s mouth hangs agape as he finally begins to realise the situation we’re knee high in.

“Yes, Marco. Jaeger,” I smile, patting Eren’s snout softly.

I can’t say that I wasn’t expecting this. After talking to Mikasa whilst Marco and I were in the In Between, it couldn’t have been long until Eren would shift again. Two years is a little too long for a shifter not to be triggered – especially someone with a head as hot as lava like Eren.

“What happened?” I ask, turning to Armin. “And I need full details.”

He nods, coming free from Marco’s support and takes a deep breath. “We were walking back to the bakery when a man jumped out at us from an alleyway. He started threatening Eren, wanting to start some kind of fight because apparently he owes him money.” Of course. In the end it always comes down to money. “Although Eren told him that he wasn’t the right person, the man got mad and… he hit him.” All is quiet as he regains himself, looking solemnly at Eren, and apologetically at me. “When Eren fell to the floor, he started screaming. His bones were growing and his skin couldn’t contain them. They started bursting out of his body and becoming covered in fur. And he just kept _growing_ , and bleeding, a-and screaming… I didn’t know what to do. By the time a crowd had formed around us, he was… _this_. And then we ran.” With hopeful eyes, Armin stares at me and grabs my hand. “You were the only person I thought of that could help him.”

Nudging me with his nose, Eren prods me for some form of response, or even a reaction. But in truth, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. It’s not like I’ve ever been in this kind of situation before. It’s moments like this when I really wish Mikasa was here to think logically about these things. She was there the last time Eren shifted, and in the grand retrospect of things, I think she managed it pretty well if it wasn’t for selling her entire life to a Valkyrie just to erase a few hours of her brother’s memory.

Ah, right. I probably shouldn’t mention that to him or she’ll kill me.

This should wear off soon, right?

“It’ll wear off soon,” I nod, trying to reassure both myself and the others. “…Well, it should do.”

“What do you mean _should_?” Armin asks, his frown returning and Marco’s eyes going wide again.

“Well, I don’t exactly know…”

“ _Jean_!”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never had one of my friends turn into a horse before!”

Eren whinnies, momentarily forgetting that he can’t speak, but I know it’s yet another horse joke.

I swear if he makes one more horse joke after today I’ll make sure he never hears the end of this.

“Marco, can you stay with Armin? I need to talk to Eren.”

“Sure thing,” he smiles, but I sense something else there, biting away at his lips. For now, I’ll ignore it; I have bigger fish (horses) to fry. And so I lead Eren away from the two of them so we can have a little chat without Armin shouting at me for saying the wrong things.

There isn’t exactly a nice way to put this, so I make myself comfortable on the ground and look up at the beast that contains the soul of my friend towering over me. His sudden growth spurt is making me uncomfortable since I’m so used to looking down on him. “Eren, it would make life a whole lot easier if you sat down.”

Clearly confused, he looks down at his hooves and scuffs them along the grass, trying to figure out how to get down on his new, spindly legs. He grumbles at me, digging curved holes in the dirt the more he scrapes in frustration.

“Just sit like a dog would. That’s the easiest way.”

Eren stares at me like I’m a lunatic, but slowly lowers himself until his huge backside is planted firmly on the ground with his front legs neatly poised in front of him for support. He’s still taller than me, but at least I can get a better look at him now and revel in this glorious moment.

I shouldn’t laugh, but I do anyway. It’s just so ironic that the one who’s been saying that I look like a horse for the majority of my life accidentally turns into one.

Now _that’s_ a good bedtime story.

Eventually, Eren huffs out of irritation and now I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to him. “Do you want me to just tell you?” I ask. “There isn’t really a way to put this lightly.”

Cautiously and considering what he’s let himself in to, Eren nods his head and settles down a little more.

Remember when I thought I couldn’t just go up to one of my friends and say: “Oh, by the way you’re a shapeshifter and can turn into any animal you want. Congratulations”? Well, looks like I’m going to have to now… just a little nicer – if that’s even possible.

I take a deep breath and start twiddling my thumbs around a piece of grass. I don’t think I can really look at him when I tell him this. “Eren,” I begin, worrying at my lip, “you’re a shapeshifter.”

My eyes flick upwards to meet his gaze and his eyes are filled with almost every emotion I can think of. First, they’re the epitome of confusion and it swims in the ocean blue, swirling and curling into him; then they scatter into disbelief and his eyes take on a much darker shade. Finally, denial takes over and he starts shaking his head frantically, backing away from me.

“Eren, I’m telling the truth. Do you have any other way of explaining this?” He shakes his head. “Exactly. And remember that I see people in their true form?” He nods. “Well, I’ve known what you really are for a while now.”

He freezes, eyes wide in shock or disbelief or rage – I don’t even know anymore. Erupting into shrieks of sounds that are meant to form words, Eren goes ballistic. He storms upwards, suspending over me again like I’m nothing but a rat and I fall backwards with a yelp onto my back as he billows angrily, demanding answers.

“Look, I’m sorry! How exactly was I meant to tell you something like that?”

He glares at me deeper, his eyes boring into me and I think he’s going to crush me soon.

“Jean?!” Marco shouts. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy!” I shout back. Unfortunately, as much as his presence would be really useful right now, this is my mess and I’m the one who needs to clear it up. “Eren, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how to and I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I know I’ve fucked up before, but this was for your own good. I can teach you how to control this, but you _just need to trust me_.” A part of me thinks he can’t hear me since he keeps glaring at me like he wants to step on me and crush my ribs.

For a moment, I think I’ve lost him and the body of the beast his soul currently inhabits has taken over and I’m just a bug on the ground – worthless, nothing, not important. His crushing glare doesn’t leave me and I’m even beginning to see tears form in the corners of his eyes.

“Eren, I’m sorry… For everything. What I did to you two years ago was the shittiest, most _disgusting_ thing I’ve ever done in my life and I don’t blame you for hating me. I deserve it. I should never have done that to you and I’m sorry that you have to live knowing that a dick like me took _that_ away from you. I’m not asking for your forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it, but can you at least trust me? And I promise I’ll get you through this – no, _we’ll_ make it through this.”

Nothing happens. His eyes are fixed onto me like and archer ready to shoot their prey and I brace myself for the worst. I screw my eyes shut and expect the sudden weight of all my mistakes to come crushing down on my chest and break every bone in my body… but it doesn’t. I feel a weight slowly descend down onto my chest, but it isn’t bone crushing. It’s light, soft to the touch – flesh.

“I’m sorry too,” Eren’s voice breathes in my ear.

Slowly, I reach my arm up and around his bare back and stroke lightly at the skin there.

See, I _knew_ it would wear off – and at pretty convenient timing, too. I must be magic or something.

“You did nothing wrong,” I murmur. Allowing my eyes to flitter open, I see Eren lying on top of me, completely bare and nuzzling into my neck. He’s calm, not angry like I expected him to be and I wonder if changing back has numbed his emotions. Turning my head to look at his face, I am met with closed eyes and his heavy breath against my collar. “Eren?”

“Mhm?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No, just resting… I just feel a little dizzy.”

“Do you want to go inside? You must be freezing out—“

“No, stay here. You’re warm,” he sighs as he burrows into me further, wrapping his arms around me.

I’m hoping that this is the dizziness talking and not him because now I can see Marco, still talking to Armin about fuck knows what… and he keeps looking over at us, a hint of jealousy picking at his smile.

So _that’s_ what it was earlier. And there I was thinking that he was having second thoughts.

I can’t blame him, though. My friend who I happen to have history with _is_ lying on top of me naked.

We should probably get up. As much as I’m glad that Eren’s sedated enough to not be talking much, I should probably get him off me before Marco has doubts himself.

“Eren, we should probably go see Armin and Marco, they’re worried about you.”

“Who’s Marco?” he exhales, all the words coming out in one long, quiet breath.

“Marc. His real name’s Marco.” Since he’s dizzy, I might as well tell him and let Armin explain the rest for me. It’s not like he’s going to care, anyway. “He’s the prince.”

Only then does he raise his head from the warmth of my neck and he stares at me droopily with hardly any life in his eyes. I guess shape-shifting really does take it out of you.

“You fucked the prince?” he frowns. Definitely the dizziness talking. Although, I have the feeling that he’s coming back to his senses again.

“What? No, I haven’t fucked him.”

“But you want to,” he laughs torpidly, running a hand through his damp, sweaty hair.

“Who says?” I retort.

He grins. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

And there’s that ‘L’ word again. That’s the second time I’ve heard it today and the more I hear it, the more I wince in fear.

Almost everyone around me is forgetting one crucial detail: witches can’t fall in love. I mean, look what happened to my father. My mother fell in love with him and he died shortly after I was born. Hanji fell in love with her old apprentice, Moblit and guess what happened to him… Well, he didn’t die, he just got so fed up with Hanji’s recklessness that he left her and now works for some shady doctor in Shiganshina. But, in short: bad things happen to people witches fall in love with. My (birth) family just has a history of killing people with that curse.

“No, Eren. I am not in love with him,” I deadpan, cocking an eyebrow at the mischievous look he’s suddenly giving me.

“You are!” he laughs. “You’re blushing, you know.”

I can’t even be bothered to answer him. It’s like he’s reverted to his thirteen year old self again.

Sighing, I sit up to my full height and let his dead weight roll off me and onto the grass in fits of delayed laughter. Marco and Armin spy my sudden reappearance out of the gangling jungle and come running over, slightly concerned.

“Is everything alright?” Armin asks before Marco does since he’s too busy going red over Eren’s… nakedness.

“He’s fine. He just needs some rest and someone to knock him out,” I grumble shooting Eren a murderous look as he hoots even louder when he sees Marco.

“W-why?” Marco stammers.

“You don’t want to know.”

Still cackling, Eren’s arm is scooped upwards and over Armin’s shoulder. He pulls him up roughly, since Eren isn’t exactly being helpful, and rolls his eyes the more the carcass hanging off him guffaws.

“You can put him in my room for a while,” I tell him.

“For how long?”

“Just until he goes to sleep and shuts the fuck up.”

“Love!” Eren snorts, going limp around Armin’s hold.

I really hope he isn’t like this every time he shifts. At least he’s not having a mental breakdown, I suppose – but this is ridiculous. It’s like he’s drunk… but worse.

Glancing to Armin’s side, I see Marco’s face flushing red, making his freckles fade into his inflamed skin. He stays quiet as he has done this entire time, taking everything in and becoming more embarrassed the longer he’s exposed to Eren’s bare ass.

Armin nods, not questioning Eren’s odd behaviour and drags the ever-tiring corpse along with him towards the shop, leaving Marco and I alone. I’m just hoping that Eren remembers all of this when he comes to his senses again – it would save me a lot of explaining.

As soon as Eren and Armin are out of sight (even though I can still hear Eren’s consistent laughter and hoots of the ‘L’ word), Marco starts shuffling awkwardly, shooting me a tiny smile before staring at the floor.

“You alright?” I ask, stepping further towards him. He flinches slightly and then nods as if he’s in a hurry. “ _Sure_?”

“I am. Really,” he smiles half-heartedly.

Naturally, I don’t believe a word of it. So I pounce on him, allowing the two of us to tumble backwards as he yelps. I let him fall first as a ‘fuck you for having doubts about whatever this is’ and I land heavily on top of him, laughing at his discomfort as he rubs the small of his back.

“ _Jean_ , that hurt,” he giggles once he’s over the soreness.

I lie on top of him hoping he’ll wrap his arms around me like he usually does, or do _something_ that could be counted as romantic, but he just _lies_ there like a dead fish, completely calm and numb. And then there’s me, worrying about how I’m going to convince him not to have doubts about this.

“Jean?”

Well, it looks like he’s going to do it for me.

“Hm?”

“What are we?”

“Dragons – didn’t you know?” I deadpan, placing my chin on his chest.

Thankfully, he laughs, covering his eyes with his arm as his chest jiggles, bumping me about. I hold onto him as he continues laughing. Jeez, it wasn’t _that_ funny.

“No, Jean,” he giggles. “I mean what are _we_?”

“Dra—“

“Don’t say dragons because I certainly can’t breathe fire… and I _definitely_ don’t kidnap princesses.”

I let the rest of my body fall onto him and rest my head on his shoulder, stroking his cheek as gently as I can. “I don’t know what we are,” I breathe, jokes aside. “We could be falling stars for all I know, wandering through the sky, trying to find what we’re looking for in this life. But all I know is that I want this – I want _you_. I mean, does it really matter if we don’t know what this is? If we want each other and we’re happy in each other’s company, then what does it matter? Why should we put a label on this when we’re happy with the way things are?”

And then it hits me like a blow to the chest and the feeling is almost crippling – it’s _painful_. Hesitant for his reaction, I lift my head to face him and he’s unreadable. “Marco, are you happy with the way things are?”

Not a word. Instead, he grabs me and rolls us over so I’m the one on my back and he stares into my eyes with all seriousness. He cups my cheeks with a feather light touch and he locks his lips with mine, letting my tongue dart over his bottom lip as he runs his fingers through my hair.

“I’m happy,” he mumbles into my lips.

The way he holds his touch against my skin makes his words sink in ever deeper and for some reason, I believe him.

My back arches as he leans into me again, making our chests press against each other and he falls into me, cradling me in his arms. Dragging his nails over my exposed skin, he deepens every touch he possesses and without thinking, I gasp into his mouth when he pulls my hair.

Something sparks in my lower gut and I sit upright, dropping into his lap and kiss him almost ferociously, silently begging him to do that again. He cups my cheeks with his hands and holds me closer to him, making each touch more passionate than the last. But I _really_ want him to pull my hair again.

My hand snakes into his hair and I slightly tug at the strands. Shivering, he breathes heavily against me. So I do it again. “Mhm, Jean,” he gasps, pulling away from me slightly.

“You know I am still here,” a stern voice slurs. Slowly, Marco and I turn our heads to face Armin, suspending over us with the most unimpressed and blank expression I have ever seen.

Right. I forgot about him.

“S-sorry, Armin,” Marco stammers, sliding out from underneath me.

After hauling both of us up, Armin shakes his head at me discreetly and out of Marco’s view. “No,” he mouths. I know it’s a warning and what just happened probably shouldn’t have. Well, I was only a few moments away from sleeping with the prince.

“How’s Eren?” I ask, brushing the dirt off my trousers.

“Sleeping like a baby. I think that really took it out of him,” Armin laughs. “Do you want me to come back for him later?”

I shake my head. “We’ll take him home when he wakes up.”

A hand entwines with mine and I smile at the one holding it. I don’t think he’s ever held my hand first.

“Do you think he’ll remember everything when he wakes up?” Marco asks.

“I hope so,” I mumble. Armin nods in agreement.

With the unfortunate scene Armin saw a few moments ago, awkwardness settles between the three of us, which eventually ends with Armin taking an early leave.

I couldn’t be happier… but then I remember the naked, sleeping shapeshifter in my bed.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

* * *

 

The rest of what’s meant to be summer passes much like winter would. As the days grow shorter, so does my time with Marco. And the nights begin to stretch on endlessly, making every moment of my dreams more painful and the taste of blood on my lips too real. It’s become so bad now that he doesn’t even react to my presence until I begin devouring him.

September brings autumn with it, but no colour. Everything is dead already.

Almost the entire town of Karanesse has been wiped out by the plague, and Trost hasn’t had shipments in from there in weeks. We’ve had to rely on the charity of other nearby towns for food and the non-existent pity of the capital.

It’s strange – we’re the only town who hasn’t been hit by the plague, yet we seem to be the ones who are worse off. The people here won’t die of disease – they’ll die of starvation.

Marco’s been doing everything he can to convince his uncle to do something about the food shipments, but of course it has to go through the king first. And after what Marco’s told me about his relationship with his father, I don’t think there will be much change.

I guess I really was wrong about His Royal Highness, after all.

He just never knew what was going on outside those walls.

 

* * *

 

It’s September 22nd, and Marco’s been in the shop since the crack of dawn helping me mix together some new healing balms. I’ve left him in the back room with only a tired lump of a cat and some books to help him, but I know that he won’t mess this up. He may be awful at love potions, but when it comes to healing, Marco knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like he has a natural talent for it.

Whilst he’s busy with that, I’m rearranging the crystals yet again. Our last customer knocked the shelf and now they’ve all gone skewwhiff.

Although everything around us seems to be slowly crumbling away, we try to stay positive. We have each other, Erwin still has no idea that Marco sees me every day, Levi is no longer on my ass and we’ve only had one gremlin storm into the shop this week, and that was taken care of pretty quickly.

Marco’s been coming a little earlier now since we can no longer tell when sunset starts with all the dark storm clouds in the sky, each one holding uncountable tempests soon to come. Day seems to merge effortlessly into night nowadays, so the both of us have now grown accustomed to the shadows all around us.

I know they’re still there, but with Marco around, they’re not as noticeable.

“Jean,” Marco calls from inside the back room.

“Yes, Prince Charming?”

“I need more bees wax.”

“There’s some on the top shelf. Or are you too short to reach it? Because if you are, then I can’t help you with that one.”

Light footsteps accompanied by gentle laughter come closer and arms soon slide around my waist. I glance to see him there, smiling at me like we’re an old married couple. Or, at least that’s how Sasha’s started describing us.

We don’t see the others as much as we used to, but we still get regular visits from Eren complaining about which animal he managed to turn into. Miraculously, the other day he shifted into a cockerel right before my very eyes. Of course, I had to make a joke about how much of a “cock” he was. Let’s just say he wasn’t amused so he attempted to peck my eyeballs out of my skull. As it turns out, he was trying to shift into a wolf… he failed epically.

Marco presses a small kiss against my lips and laughs softly. “No, my moon and stars, I’ve checked on the top shelf and there’s none there.”

“Then you’ll just have to help me, then,” I smirk, turning the both of us around and pressing him against the shelves.

We lean in closer and my hand rests on the back of his neck, twisting my fingers in the shorter hairs there. Our foreheads rest against each other and we just _smile_ at one another, happy to be together.

But then the door slams open and the entire atmosphere changes in a split second.

Like a candle being blown out in the dead of night, darkness and cold seeps into the shop, draining out all the light Marco and I have worked so hard to create over these last few months. He holds me tighter, pressing my cheek into his chest and wrapping his arms around me in some form of barrier.

As the appearance of shadows has become more recent, Marco’s become more protective of me – even though there’s nothing he can do.

Winds from outside batter the door against the wall over and over again, thundering like my heartbeat and my breath becomes shallow. Marco winces and we cower against the shelves, his body covering mine, willing to take whatever blow may come. We stay still, hoping that the noise and the cold will pass – but something in my gut tells me that this isn’t over just yet.

“Jean?” a soft, barely audible voice attempts to call. But it’s not Marco’s.

Cautiously, we lift our heads and a familiar silhouette stands in the threshold, bent over more than usual, denying us eye contact.

“Hanji?” I breathe, slipping out of Marco’s hold and approaching her slowly.

Drooped shoulders keep her head low and focussed on the floor and even when I’m a fraction away from her, she refuses to look at me. Her hair is mussed and knotted from the wind and her clothes a mis-matched jumble. She’s shaking.

“Hanji what happened?” I ask hurriedly.

Marco’s soothing touch rests on my shoulder, but it’s not enough. Hanji’s silence is deafening, compared to her usual shrieks of laughter, and the longer she doesn’t look at me, the more I begin to worry.

“Sit her down,” Marco advises as he goes to close the door, attempting to keep _some_ warmth in here.

Despite her reluctance, I drag Hanji into the shop and force her onto one of the stools behind the counter. I grab her shoulders, begging her to look up at me, but she does nothing. Tiny, noiseless sobs break free from her lips and trembling hands reach out to me. I give her contact and squeeze her hands in my own.

“Hanji,” I plead, “what happened?”

Finally, she lifts her head, tears streaming down her once smiling face and her glasses holding residue from the cold outside. The winds still howl, swirling into the shop and disrupting everything in their path. Marco stays close, radiating his warmth onto both of us, blocking out the cold with the barrier of his own body.

“Such a good boy,” she sobs, stroking the skin covering my bony fingers with her thumb.

“Hanji,” I choke, now on the verge of crying myself.

“I’m so sorry, Jean,” she weeps. “I couldn’t get there in time.”

“What do you mean?” A scratching feeling begins to grow in the back of my throat, getting harder and harder to swallow down. But it’s consuming me.

She breathes a few shallow, broken breaths and her grip on me tightens. Marco’s presence moves closer to me and I can feel his heart racing from the anxiety burning from my skin. I think I’m going to drown.

Hanji’s lips move and the words that come out are like a knife to the chest. “It’s your mother, Jean.”

My heart stops and I fall backwards into Marco. He holds me upright as I regain my breath, my heart catching in my throat.

She doesn’t need to say any more – I know what’s happened.

Water feels like it’s filling my lungs and I can no longer breathe. I keep inhaling air, but none of it is reaching where it should. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, screaming the explanation that Hanji gives me. “There was nothing we could do, Jean. She developed symptoms, but by then it was too late. She was so proud of you…”

She has nothing to be proud of.

Hanji caresses my cheek softly and droplets from my mottled skin roll into her palm. Red, puffy eyes stare in sympathy at me – but that’s not what I need.

I storm out of my seat, pushing past Marco and I collapse onto the floor, clenching my twisting, sickening stomach and I press my forehead against the floorboards.

Detaching myself from everyone around me, I curl into my own bubble as the world blurs and melts into black. The weight in my chest gets caught in my throat and I’m choking, shaking, drowning. The touches that I should feel and the calls of my name become numb the more I allow myself to deteriorate and liquid tumbles off my skin, only to dissolve into the floorboards and the material shrouding my quivering body.

_She has nothing to be proud of. You’re a failure. You can’t possibly call yourself a witch, can you? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re nothing to those people. Scum. You’ll never be able to help them. It’s all down to you now and there’s nothing you can do to save them.  
You’re going to lose everything – and there’s nothing you can do to stop it._

I scream.

_Think about it, Jean. Why do you even keep **him** here? You know you’re bad for him. You’re losing him. You won’t even tell him that you love him._

The voice in my head cackles loudly, making my blood boil.

_Of course… you can’t tell him, can you? He’ll die just like the rest of them.  
Oh, but how **badly** you want to tell him. You’re scared, aren’t you? He’ll leave you if you don’t tell him, won’t he? He’s already told you, hasn’t he? But you **rejected** him._

Everything around me disintegrates into panic. When I lift my head and my eyes are forced open by a force that is not my own I see that the entire floor surrounding me is black mist, twisting and turning, creating wisps of smoke around me.

_He’ll die just like your father did… and now your mother. You don’t want your precious prince to end up like them, would you?_

My breath becomes heavy and I try to crawl away, Marco and Hanji’s screams ringing in my ears.

_Look at him, Jean. Look at how desperate he is to save you. He must really care about you if he’s stuck around for this long – even though you don’t love him.  
But you’re a lost cause, aren’t you, Jean? He can’t save you. No one can._

“Jean, run!” Muffled echoes fall on my deaf ears and I am helpless when strong arms wrap around my chest, trying to pull me upright. But the shadows tighten their grip around my ankles and begin pulling in the other direction.

_Jean, run! Oh please, Jean, save yourself! You wouldn’t want to **die** in his arms, would you?_

My legs feel like they’re sinking into the floor as the black begins to win and Hanji’s gone quiet. Only Marco’s grip is pulling me away from the darkening swamp curdling at my feet. And he’s losing me.

I am numb. I am helpless. I am no longer in control of my own body.

It’s like my nightmares are becoming a reality.

As the shadows begin to crawl up my legs, Marco stamps on them, making them disperse for only a moment. Then they retaliate in brutal force and they knock both of us over.

In the moment when Marco’s grip on me falters, the shadows clench around me body and drag me into them whilst I cry and scream out as he grapples after me. But he’s too late.

Everything goes black.

This is where I lose control of myself. It’s happened before. Shadows take over my movements, threatening to break every bone in my body if I don’t comply; and I let them. Weakness takes over, corrupting my logical reasoning and I give into the shadows, letting them take over completely. Like watching outside my own body, I can do nothing as I watch them control me like a puppet on strings.

“Jean!” Marco screams, and I feel his touch against me.

He needs to get away from me, but I don’t have the strength to tell him. All I can do is watch and feel what they’re going to make me do.

“Marco, what’s happened to him? W-what were those…” Hanji trails off as my eyes open.

Unknown forces pull me to my feet in the dark, clinging to my wrists enough to bruise them and the two of them stumble away from me with horror sweltering in their eyes.

“Jean?” Marco chokes, staring up at me whilst I look down on him.

I can’t feel anything.

“Jean… y-your eyes.”

In a moment of pity or cruelty, the shadows let go of me for a split second and I spy my reflection in one of the jars on the shelves.

Visibly, I swallow back all hope of getting out of this easily as eyes that are not my own stare back at me. They’re deep black. Empty. Two chasms gouged into my sockets where my eyes used to be.

Shaking, I drag my nails down my cheek, hard enough in hopes to draw blood or at least to feel some kind of pain in hopes that I’ll wake up from this mess – in hopes that I’ll wake up next to Marco in a dimension where none of this exists.

And this all started because I’d lost my mother. How pathetic I really am. How pitiful am I to let my guard down – just for a moment – and let the shadows in. I already know that they come when I’m at my most vulnerable – so why did I let them in. Why did I – ?

“Jean?” He says my name like I’m the saviour, not realising that I’m the villain.

I really am a monster.

His finger brushes lightly over my cheek, trailing over my skin like I’m worth something. Touching me so gently, you would think that there was nothing wrong with me.

The words on my tongue sit there bitter and corrupt. I don’t want to do this, but I know that I have to.

Slowly, I turn to face him, my eyes burning as his own look into where mine should be.

“Marco, you know what happens next, don’t you?” I breathe lowly. He looks at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but we’ve relived this moment too many times for him not to. “You’ve been having them, too, haven’t you? The dreams.” Lip quivering, he nods. His touch hasn’t left my cheek. “Then you know as well as I do what will happen if you don’t get away from me.”

Breath catches in both our throats as the words that I didn’t want to ever say ink the air around us. Marco’s eyes begin to glaze over as he looks at me for what I hope, for his sake, is the last time. He holds his hand up to his now damp skin to wipe away the residue forming at his bleary, red eyes and he moves my tousled hair away from my face.

My chest feels heavy as if it were made of stone as he leans in to press a kiss against my damp forehead. I move towards him, burying my face into his shoulder and I let him cry into mine. “I don’t want to,” he weeps, fisting his hands in my tunic.

If I could, I’d be screaming. But this is the only form of movement the shadows will allow me.

“Marco, you’re not safe with me. If you stay here, then you know what will happen. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me – I trust you.”

“Marco, look at me.” The words come out as an order, to see what I’m becoming. He complies, raising his head from my shoulder reluctantly to look into nothingness. Cupping his cheeks lightly, I look at him with as much sincerity as I can – which is pretty hard when your eyes have been consumed by darkness. “Run,” I plea. “Run as far away from me and all of this as possible, do you understand?”

“Please don’t do this,” he cries, holding his hands over mine. Hot streams roll over my skin the longer I keep my hands pressed against him, but I keep them there anyway.

“Run. Get away from me before I do something I’ll regret.”

He clenches my hands in desperation, clinging onto whatever is left of me. “No, I’m not leaving you!”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You’re hurting me by sending me away!” he screams.

My hands fall from his face. I’m running out of time before the shadows take over again. I’m shocked that I’ve managed to stay sane for _this_ long.

My time is up. I can feel them crawling through my bloodstream. I’m too late.

“Get the fuck out, now!” I yell, pushing him away from me and towards the door.

I need him to get out. He needs to get away. I’ll hurt him. I’ll devour him. I’ll kill him.

They’re blackening my blood. I can feel them crawling over my skin like insects. It’s only a matter of moments until—

Claws cutting me from the inside out scrape across my body, voices in my head start screaming, my breath become ragged.

My time is up.

“Get out!” I scream. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Staggering backwards, Marco’s breaths come out in short, shattered gasps as he watches me fade into the black. He’s given up on reasoning with me. He’s too scared to move.

“Leave! And never come back!”

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.

Before I can say another word, the shadows seal my mouth shut and I watch in agony as Marco stands there, hoping that I’ll say something else.

I’m screaming apologies at him, but he can no longer hear me.

He takes one more look at me, filled with emotions I have never seen in him before – anger, sorrow, disbelief. They’re all there, and it fucking _hurts_ to see him look at me like that.

Without another word, he takes a deep breath and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

And only then do the shadows let me go, knowing that they no longer need to aid my self-destruction. I’m capable of doing it myself – now that I am truly alone.

I’m so sorry, Marco.

 

* * *

 

I find Hanji cowering behind the counter, shaking and trembling the closer I get to her. She still thinks I’m possessed and despite my reasonable argument, she insists that she performs a cleansing spell on me.

Once my senses have been clouded by the smell of sage and lavender, and I’m choking on the smoke, Hanji finally believes that I’m back to normal again.

She throws the smoking bundle out the window to get it the fuck away from me before I suffocate and turns to me again with thunder in her eyes. I know I’m in for a grilling.

“What _was_ that, Jean?” she scowls, folding her arms across her chest.

“What was what?” I retort, knowing full well what she’s talking about.

Sighing, she sits down behind the counter and beckons me to join her. I slide in next to her, only to get my arm slapped hard enough to leave a mark. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re an imbecile,” she sighs, rubbing the spot where she’d just hit me.

“Thank you so much, Hanji. I really appreciate your support,” I mutter coldly. I just sent away one of the most important people in my life, screaming at him and I get slapped in return? That doesn’t sound right to me.

“If you’re expecting sympathy from me for what you just did, then you’re very, very wrong and must be delusional,” she says, quirking her eyebrow. Despite her pissed off demeanour, I can tell she’s still struggling with the news and the events that were just performed in front of her. Anyone would. Unfortunately, Hanji’s way of dealing with things is to bottle them all up and focus on everyone else’s well-being first and then break down later. Sometimes, I think she needs to let herself go. I would say this to her, but I think she’s too annoyed with me right now to even try.

“Jean, are you even listening to me?” she scowls, snapping me out of my inner monologue.

“S-sorry.”

Solemnly, she sighs and rests her hand over mine with the gentlest touch. “Jean, I’m sorry about your mother – believe me I am. She was my best friend and I always thought of her as my sister. And ever since you were brought into this world, I always thought of you as my nephew. Therefore, I promised your mother that whatever happened, even if she wasn’t around, I would take care of you. And that’s why I’m not giving you any sympathy.”

Still confused, I raise my head to face her more, demanding an answer to her speech.

“What you did to Marco was wrong. The manner in which you sent him away in was uncalled for and on the verge of cruel. You didn’t have to scream at him like that – he was only trying to help.”

I can feel my eyes start to sting again as the memory of the way he looked at me before he left starts to sink in, its message of clear hatred engraving itself into my bones.

“I didn’t want to do that to him,” I tremble, scraping my hand through my tousled, knotted hair.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” I snap. “If he had stayed, I would have killed him.”

“How do you know that?” she says calmly, balling her hands into fists. My eyes evade hers uncontrollably, a tell-tale sign that I’ve been keeping something from her. She has no idea about the shadows. I can practically _feel_ the gasp of realisation she breathes. “What haven’t you been telling me, Jean?”

Before a single word can even break free from my lips, I break down in front of her. All the pressure that’s been building up on top of me for the last few months finally crushes me… and it’s uglier than I ever imagined. Even Gumbie’s too scared to come into the main shop as I scream out about the shadows, how I won’t be able to cope without my mother because now _I’m_ the Trost witch. _I_ am the one who has to save these people and I don’t think I can do it. Especially not now that Marco’s gone.

When Marco’s name leaves my lips in a moment of carelessness, I start crying again, screaming into Hanji’s comforting shoulder and screwing my hands in the soft material of her tunic. “I had to, Hanji. They took father away from mother, and now they want to take Marco away from me. I had to let him go. I couldn’t stand and watch him suffer by my hand.”

She holds me closer to her, twisting the ends of my hair between her fingertips. She used to comfort me like this when I was younger and mother had to leave for weeks at a time. I couldn’t handle it very well when I was younger, but as I grew up it happened so often that I got used to it. I grew accustomed to being alone and I learnt how to fend for myself. I cooked, I looked after the shop, I fed Gumbie and I even healed a few people. And my mother would always be so proud of me when she came home, commenting on the way I’d arranged the crystals, or how tidy the kitchen looked, or how fat Gumbie had gotten. At one point she was even worried that I was giving him _all_ the food… Looking back on it, I think I took her for granted.

I should have seen it coming – especially when I stopped hearing about her. For three months she was gone and she never even sent me a letter. Who knows how long she’d been gone before Hanji found out? It could have been weeks. And I wasn’t even told – her _only_ child.

I should never have let her leave.

“Jean,” Hanji says, rubbing my back in smooth, even circles. My head leaves her shoulder and I look at her sombrely, feeling sorry for myself. “Do you love Marco?”

“I can’t,” I sniff.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Inhaling deeply, Hanji moves her hair from her face and leans on the counter, covering her mouth with her hands and breathes out again. “Is this to do with the ‘curse’ your mother always talked about?”

I nod. “Yes.”

She gives me an exasperated sigh, her face dragged down and weary from all the shit that’s happened today. And I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m stupid.

“Why? Don’t you believe it?” I ask.

“Of course I don’t,” she scoffs, “but you’ve probably got it so stuck in your head that it’s true, that there’s no point in me telling you that it’s not.”

Worrying at my lip, I lower my head to stare at the floor. Anything to avoid the lengthy heart-to-heart she’s about to give me.

“Jean, it’s your fault that Marco’s gone. You believe in this curse so much that you won’t even give your relationship with him a chance to work,” she begins. “I understand that it’s going to be difficult with him being the heir to the throne and all, but you’re not even going to _try_?”

“But the shadows—“

“I don’t give a damn,” she interrupts. “ _Fight them_ , Jean. Isn’t that what you’re meant to do anyway?”

I don’t answer her. I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to even care.

“If anything, Jean, I think you’re being pretty selfish about all of this.”

Only then do my ears perk up at the insult thrown at me by my own aunt. I don’t deserve this, do I? The two most important people in my life are _gone_ – never to return – and _I’m_ being selfish?

“How am I being selfish?” I scowl, gritting my teeth from all this unneeded grief I’m receiving.

“Have you even taken into account how _Marco_ feels about this? First of all, it’s a miracle that he’s even stuck with you for this long – I was _shocked_ when you told me who he really was because even though he knows what’s at stake, he stays with you. Secondly, he seemed pretty determined to stay and fight for you earlier. I didn’t see _you_ do that. And finally, I _know_ that he’s already told you how he feels about you, yet even though you deny your feelings for him because you’re scared, he stays. To me, that’s a boy who knows what he wants in life.” She’s grinning at me like she knows she’s right. And as much as I know she is, too… I am scared – fucking terrified, even.

“A death wish – that’s what he wants,” I grumble, covering up all the revelations that may or may not be going on inside my head.

By this point, I’m pretty certain that Hanji’s given up all hope of trying to beat some sense into me. Her face is blank and emotionless, tired and grey from the mess I’ve put myself in and her eyes look weary and red. I don’t think she can put up with my nonsense for much longer.

Sighing, she ruffles my hair before getting out of her seat and walking towards the door. As her hand rests on the handle, she turns to me one last time. “I am sorry about your mother, Jean. And Marco… Therefore, I hope you face your adversary and find you’re stronger than you think.”

We nod at one another silently, mine in thanks, and hers in goodbye. Then she leaves, forsaking me alone with only my regret for company.

 

* * *

 

It’ll be October in two days – the month that’s supposed to be filled with the colours that remind me of Marco’s eyes.

He did as he was told – he hasn’t come back since that day and the shop’s becoming more and more desolate the more time passes. I’m making it sound as if he hasn’t been here for years, yet it’s only been six days. But it feels that way.

Even Gumbie’s too pissed off with me right now to be around. After Hanji left he’s been looking at me with a look that screams “look at what you did, you piece of shit.” Then again, he always looks at me like that. It’s just different this time because it’s not just the way his face happens to fall.

On one hand, it’s for the best that Marco isn’t around. Yesterday I swore I could feel something a lot bigger than usual lurking around the edge of the forest. Usually, it’s just vampires and occasionally I’ll feel an orc – but this was something I didn’t recognise. I wouldn’t have wanted Marco to have seen me panicking like I was then. I got so scared that I shut myself in my bedroom until the feeling went away. I think I ended up staying in there all afternoon.

But then, I miss him. The shop doesn’t feel the same without him around, and every time I look out into the field I can’t help but stare at that spot where I kissed him for the first time. I even call his name sometimes when I’ve stupidly left something in the back room and can’t be bothered to go get it. And yet, even though he isn’t here, we still see each other in our dreams. Only now, he just cries every time he sees me and tells me to “get it over with” so he can wake up. Killing him is now the only form of contact I have with him.

It’ll be that way forevermore.

 

* * *

 

October doesn’t bring the colours I expect it to – nor does it bring Marco back.

I’ve pretty much given up all hope that I’m going to see him again, so I’ve dedicated my time to continuing my mother’s work like she would have wanted me to. It’s tiring, somewhat tedious, but I’m slowly getting there and finishing my studies in witchcraft. Surprisingly, there are spells that I had no idea even existed. I actually found a levitation spell the other day. I tried it, but I only floated for five seconds before I came crashing down on my ass. Clearly I wasn’t focussed enough.

The shop’s been getting busier recently. With winter only just around the corner and flu on the up rise, I’ve been getting more and more customers coming in and asking for remedies. I’m nearly out of lavender, but at least business is good. Not that I’m happy that people are getting sick or anything – that’s awful – but I’m just glad that I can produce the medicines to make them better.

I’m pretty sure that Gumbie’s forgiven me by now. He’s a lot friendlier around me than usual – in a way, I think he pities me – whether he does or doesn’t, it’s no matter to me. If he’s actually allowing me to give him some attention, then that’s all that matters.

Although I do miss Marco, and the dreams really aren’t helping, I think that I just need some time to get my life sorted out. After adapting my life to include him in it, now that he’s gone, I need to do some rearranging. But that’s alright. I just hope he’s fine.

 

* * *

 

“Why’s there no more fucking wood?” I grumble as I throw the final log in the pathetic excuse for a fire. It’s nearly burnt out and it’s getting late so I should probably go to sleep soon, but of course I have to complain to my cat for a while first – it’s what we do every night. Plus, it’s too much effort to walk from the kitchen to my room right now.

Lying back down on the wooden floor, I wrap myself up in my blanket, almost sweeping Gumbie up with it. He jumps away before I crush him, meowing first at me for my carelessness and then at the flicker that we’ve had to call a fire.

“There’s no more wood, Gumbs. You should have reminded me and then I would have gotten some.”

If cats could talk, I’m pretty sure that he’d be throwing out every insult under the sun right now. He’s giving me _that_ look again. Luckily, giving me the slightest shrug, he gets over it and curls up next to me, bathing in the little warmth being given off by the fire.

It’s only the beginning of November, yet I feel like we’ve just been cast into the ice age. I’ve been walking around the shop with a blanket wrapped around me all day, and now with the shortage of firewood, I think this is going to a very long and painful month.

“Winter’s going to be _so_ much fun,” I mutter, scooping the ball of fluff next to me and using him as a hot water bottle. “Let’s try not to freeze to death this year, Gumbs.”

He just meows softly in agreement.

We lie there for a while as the fire dies down completely, leaving only the tiniest embers behind. As I lie in the dark with my companion breathing on top of me, all is still. I feel numb, but that’s probably from the cold, and I just want the next few months to be over. I want this never-ending winter to be over and done with already.

The sound of the front door clicking closed makes the both of us jump to attention. I bolt upright, my breath shaky and creating clouds of fog in the cool air in front of me. Gumbie turns to face the door and arches his back, claws digging into the floor. My breath shaky, I stand up, the blanket falling from my body like armour.

“We’re closed!” I shout, masking my undeniable fear by calling out as loud as I can.

I don’t get an answer.

Choosing the more dangerous way of dealing with this, I take a deep breath and storm into the main shop. “I _said_ we’re… closed.” My voice trails off and becomes only a soft whisper as I enter the room. Everything looks the same as how I left it earlier, nothing has been touched. It’s just the figure standing in the very centre admiring some brightly coloured candles that catches me off guard.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, keeping my distance. “I thought I told you not to come back.”

Marco peers around the wooden shelves and smiles softly when he sees me. “It’s nice to see you too, Jean,” he says gently, moving so that his entire body is in my line of sight. He’s wearing the tunic he wore when we went to Maria’s. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” I hiss, folding my arms across my chest, closing in on myself and away from him. “And you?”

What? I can ask him how he’s been. It has been a concern of mine, after all.

“I could be better,” he nods sombrely, edging closer to me.

Before he can close the distance between us, I pull up my defence barriers and scowl at him as hard as I can. “What’re you doing here, Marco?”

“I came to see you,” he says like nothing’s happened.

“Why now and not five weeks ago? You’ve been gone for over a month.”

Coming to a standstill, he runs a hand through his hair sheepishly and perches on the counter. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes away from mine. Clearly he’s showing regret about coming here. “I got scared. I knew that if I came back too soon you’d react worse than this.”

“I may not be reacting as badly as you thought, but I still don’t want you here,” I mumble, shying my eyes away, mimicking his actions.

After what seems like years of silence and avoiding one another, Marco takes a quaking breath and holds his head in his hands. “I spoke to Hanji,” he says, and instantly my stomach starts churning. “She told me about this apparent curse that your family has.”

I start shifting uncomfortably in my place, feeling queasy as his eyes fall on me. In hopes to block out all the feelings that I ever had for him, I disappear behind one of the bookcases. Why I’m not running into the other room or yelling at him to leave is unknown to me, but I feel unable to speak. My chest feels heavy as I breathe, regaining my breath behind the barrier of wood and stained pages.

“Is that why you sent me away?” Choked sobs have begun to escape past his lips, tainting the air with the guilt and remorse that dwells inside me. “Did you send me away because you’re scared that I’ll _die_ if you love me?”

My heart forms a lump in my throat. I’m choking on it, forcing it out of my own body so he can have it. I’d give him my heart and so much more if I could. But instead, I’m cowering behind a bookcase just so I don’t have to look him in the face as he spills his guts out.

As a drop of freezing cold water scatters over my skin, I wake myself up and banish all thoughts, acting on instinct. It seems to be the only way I can deal with situations where my emotions render me useless.

“Yes,” I answer, shaking as I grasp the shelves behind me for support. They’re digging into my back, forcing me to stay upright and not collapse in a heap on the floor, but the discomfort they’re causing me is allowing me to form words. And that’s the one thing I need if I’m going to get out of this.

“Did you even consider _my_ part in this? If this curse is even true – which I highly doubt it is – then I’m prepared to die.”

My legs give in on me and I sink to the floor, my head resting lifeless against the wood. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Footsteps come closer to me, rushed and pleading, but I’m too numb to stand. He crouches in front of me and slowly leans in closer, wrapping his arms around my frail body and letting me breathe heavily into his shoulder. “Jean, I don’t care if you can’t love me back…” I cling to him harder as droplets that are not my own trickle down my neck. “…just let me love you enough for the both of us.”

Everything’s happening so quickly. Every emotion that I’ve ever felt for him over the last few months comes rushing back to me all at once like a kick to the stomach. Feeling his touch against mine again and the way he’s holding me… it’s like I never even sent him away. It makes me realise how badly I’ve craved the feel of his skin, or the way his hushed voice sounds in my ear. I want him to stay with me – I really do – but the threatening presence of the shadows is all around us and it makes me sick.

I lose myself in Marco’s touch and the words are forced out of me like I’m being stepped on. “I want to love you,” I cry in desperation, my voice scratching the back of my throat. “I want to love you so much, but I’m _scared_ , Marco. It’s not just this – it’s everything. I’m fucking terrified of _everything_ around me and I can’t drag you into this.”

The shadows hear every word. They slink closer to us, threatening me. I watch as they trail up Marco’s back and hover over his shoulders. Claws, dripping black hover over his neck, talons warning me of the impending torture that will come if I don’t keep my mouth shut.

I need to get him away from here.

“If it means staying with you, then you can drag me kicking and screaming for all I—“

“No!” Furiously, I push him away from me and scramble upwards before the shadows can get to him. “Why don’t you understand, Marco?!” I turn away from him storming over to the counter and slamming my hands down on it with such violent force that I make the shelves shake. I know he’s followed me. I can feel him watching me. “If you stay with me you will _die_. Is that not clear to you?!”

“I’m _prepared_ to die, Jean!”

“No, you’re not!” I turn to face him, rage boiling in my gut and he just stands there, attempting not to break down into tears. I can see his lip trembling. “You’re the prince, Marco. I can’t let anything happen to you. You’re worth too much.”

“Why has that only become a problem now?” he demands. “You were perfectly fine with my identity until recently – what’s changed?”

I don’t answer him.

“You’re just making up excuses, aren’t you?” Slowly, he begins to walk towards me, fists clenched by his sides. “Jean, I intend to fight for you. I will stay here and scream at you all night until I no longer have a voice if that’s what it takes. I’m _not_ giving up on you.”

 _I_ no longer have a voice. I’ve screamed everything I have at him. I’ve given him every pathetic excuse I have and now I’m spent. I don’t have anything left to scream at him apart from those three words that I feel forbidden to say.

So I give him the only word I can possibly manage to save him from the grief my presence will bring. “Leave,” I order, pointing towards the door.

Before I can catch a final glimpse of his face or hear any more, I turn away, heading towards the back room. I’m only a fraction away from the door when I had grabs my arm and pulls me away.

“What?!” I yell, spinning back to face him.

It all happens so quickly that I barely even notice him moving. Marco pulls me in closer and places his hands on my cheeks as softly as he can in the rush. Before I can pull away, he leans in and presses his mouth against mine. He kisses me with such force that I’m left with no motive to move. I fall into him, letting him take control of me and he kisses me until my lips feel red and numb. His hand moves from my cheek to my tresses and I let him run his hand through them over and over again, not once tiring of how odd hairs catch between his fingers and are slightly pulled.

When his lips leave mine again, I find myself craving them more than I ever have before.

Everything around me becomes nothing but a blur as this time _I’m_ the one to close the distance and kiss him. My lips linger on his for only a moment, gentle and cautious, but he moves his hands down to my waist and pulls me in closer. Allowing me to wrap my arms around his neck, he keeps moving his lips in soft circles around mine, mesmerising me. I become transfixed by the way his hands move over my lower back, still too afraid to travel any lower, and the way he tilts his head just a fraction to the right to let the tip of my tongue slide into his mouth. Moving ever closer together and stumbling backwards, I allow my tongue to be caught on his lips and caress his own, taking in the taste of his sweet lips on mine.

In this moment, the shadows are no longer a concern. I’m too drunk on the feeling of him slightly rubbing against me to even care anymore. Heat’s surging through me, making my arms take on a life of their own, and I find myself pushing him up against the shelves behind us, running my hands over his chest as I become dizzier.

Taking advantage of his exposed neck, my mouth leaves his, only to latch onto the soft skin above his collarbone. In return, I hear heavier breaths leave Marco’s lips. Slowly, my tongue trails up his neck, finally resting under his jawline. My heated breathing clings onto his skin, making it warm and dewy, and I kiss him there, revelling in the sudden gasp he gives me, hands raking down my back. I press a little harder, not expecting the way his hips involuntarily buck up into mine, followed by a supressed moan.

“Jean,” he pants, hands clenching the material of my tunic. My lips leave his neck and I look at him, studying his stained cheeks and blown-out pupils. His breath shaken and adrenaline pumping through both our veins, he rests his hands on my upper arms, nails digging into my skin. “Make love to me.”

I have to do a double take just to make sure that I’m not dreaming. “ _M-Marco_?”

“Jean, make love to me,” he repeats with more vigour. “Please, I want this.” Softly, he caresses my cheek, stroking my skin so gently I can barely feel him. “I want _you_.”

It takes me a moment to register exactly what Marco’s asking me to do – what he’s _trusting_ me with. It’s almost as if the words don’t quite sink in, yet I nod anyway, still questioning if I heard him right. But the wide smile he gives me once I agree throws all my doubts out the window.

He places his hands on me again and I pull him into me slower than before, drawing him into another painfully slow kiss. Now that I know what he wants me to do, I know that I need to be gentle with him. I can’t get too carried away.

Reluctantly, I break away, lacing my hand with his and leading him towards the staircase. I blow out the single candle in the room on the way past and the instant darkness that surrounds us gives me the shivers – only for a moment, though.

I hear Gumbie complaining at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that he won’t be sleeping in my room tonight. Shooting him an apologetic glance, I continue to lead Marco further up.

The moment we enter my room, we’re on one another again, clumsily guiding each other towards my bed, stepping on toes and giggling into each other’s lips.

Fiddling with the belt buckle around his waist, we pause momentarily, only a fraction away from our resting place. Once it comes loose and falls to the floor, the realisation hits me that I’ve only ever seen Marco fully clothed, whereas he’s seen me half-naked more times than either of us can count.

With this thought in mind, my heart starts racing even faster than it was a moment ago. “Lift your arms up,” I demand breathily, desperate to see him before we’ve even lain down.

Like an obedient child, he raises his arms upwards, baring the tiniest midriff and sharp hip bones that descend into a distinct ‘V’ shape and down into his trousers. Peeling his tunic off him and throwing it to the floor, my breath hitches as his body comes into view.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe as I gaze at him like a lovesick teenager.

He’s _gorgeous_ , and I let him know this by running my hands over his bare chest, feeling his heart thump against his ribcage like a battering-ram.

“Y-your turn,” he stammers, nerves finally becoming clear.

Remembering that I’m supposed to be taking care of him, I allow him to take off my belt and tunic for me. I shiver the moment my skin comes into contact with the cool air around us. “ _Fuck,_ it’s cold,” I grumble.

Marco laughs, pressing up against me so we can share our warmth and rubbing his hands over my skin in an attempt to create friction.

Lucky for us, I know an even better method to get warm.

I push both of us into the bed and Marco flops down onto his back, giggling as I land on top of him and start kissing him stupid, sucking on his bottom lip and raking my hands through his hair and over his skin.

I sit up, shuffling away from him slightly so I can sit in between his legs. Pushing his knees up towards his chest a little, I grab at one of his boots and pull it off, throwing behind me so it lands on the other side of the room with a ‘clump’.

Marco laughs, hiding his reddening face behind his hands as I reach for the other one and do exactly the same. Whilst he’s still covering up his face, I pull off my own boots, dropping them onto the floor.

As I get off the bed and stumble over to the tiny cabinet, I hear the mattress squeak as he notices my sudden disappearance.

“Jean, are you alright?” he asks as I rummage through the vials and bottles in the cabinet.

“I’m fine, I just forgot something.”

Finally, I find what I need at the very back and grab it, tossing it triumphantly in my hand as I make my way back to Marco.

“What’s that?” he frowns.

“Hemp oil. Trust me; we’re going to need it.”

I place the tiny bottle on the floor not too far away from the bed and then rest on top of him again, my hips perfectly in line with his.

Kissing him again a little rougher than before, I start grinding my hips into him. His breath hitches, making his legs a little wider for me and I rock into him harder, warmth growing in my gut and I release a quiet, breathy moan when Marco fists his hand in my hair desperately. Every nerve in my body urges me to keep going the heavier his breath gets – and we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Giving up on restraint, Marco finally lets himself moan into my lips as the heat growing between us makes the cold almost unnoticeable. My lips move from his lips to his neck, kissing him there over and over again, wary not to leave a mark, but still pressing hard enough for him to hum contently into my hair.  With my weight pressing up against him even more, our hammering hearts beat against one another – so close I can barely discern if each thud is mine or his.

Gently, I start trailing sloppy, hungry kisses downwards, over his chest, abdomen, and then stopping at the hem of his trousers. My eyes flick upwards to look at him and I notice that he’s resting on his elbows so he can watch me. His hair’s mussed and messy from being ground into the mattress and his cheeks are stained red – partly from getting so flustered, and partly from the way I just kissed him. He looks intrigued – and then I remember that he’s never done this before.

“Jean, what’re you doing?” he asks breathily.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course I do.”

I lean towards him again, tilting his head to face me and kiss him lightly. “Just relax. I promise that I won’t do anything to harm you.”

He nods, our noses brushing slightly and I smile, shuffling back into my previous position. Tugging on the drawstring keeping his trousers up, they come loose. I feel Marco shiver under the tiny brushes of my fingertips over his skin and I caress his hip bones. As I trail my hand down, I hook my fingers over the hem of his trousers and pull, taking his breeches with them.

Marco watches me intently with flushed cheeks, unflinching as I work his final piece of clothing off him and I don’t lose his eyes once. His chest heaves as heated skin meets the cold air, and when I look down, so does mine.

Be gentle, be gentle, be gentle.

When he catches me staring, he hides behind his hands and falls back into the mattress. “I can’t watch,” he laughs, kicking his feet that are still hidden in his trousers, against the bed.

I pull them off him completely in one quick tug and throw them with the rest of our discarded clothes, then lean over him again and pry his hands away to look into those calming brown eyes. “Embarrassed?” I grin.

“A-a little,” he stammers, laughing softly to himself.

“Don’t be – you’re beautiful.”

He’s so warm against me. Even in the dark, I can still see the shine in his eyes and the big, toothy grin he’s giving me. We’re both shivering from anticipation, not the cold and I can slowly feel him relaxing against me.

Once he nods – which I’m hoping is to let me know that he’s alright – I reach over him and down towards the floor, fumbling around for the bottle. Finally, I find it and sit up again, placing it on the bed next to Marco’s hips.

And then I’m caught staring again.

Fucking hell, he looks really good naked.

Now would probably be a _really_ good time to take the rest of my clothes off, too, since he’s been like that for a while now and I keep staring at him. No wonder he’s nervous.

Some awkward, clunky shifting and a near black eye later, I manage to get the rest of my clothes off. This earns me a wide eyed gaze from Marco and he hurriedly sits up, drawing me onto my knees and pressing open mouthed kissed over the curve of my ribs and running his hands over my shoulder blades and down my spine. “So gorgeous, Jean,” he breathes heavily against me.

I’m craving more. Tentative fingertips bravely trace over my chest and downwards, and hands wrap around my hips, nails digging into my skin. He imitates my actions from earlier, brushing his soft lips over my neck and caressing me.

Winding his hair around my fingers, I lure him closer and I get the feeling of his lips pressed into my skin in return. My chest bows up, breathing shallowly as he kisses me harder and my stomach ties itself into knots. I bite my lip, trying not to lean into his touch, but he pulls away, staring up at me with wondrous eyes.

I fall back between his legs and softly push him back down so he’s sinking into the pillow, relaxed and no longer nervous. Twisting the cork out of the bottle, I can’t help but giggle at the face Marco’s giving me as I pour the oil inside into my palm.

“What exactly are you planning to do with that?” he giggles, raising a curious eyebrow at me.

“Well, there isn’t exactly a way to put it nicely, but it’s important.”

“Can you at least tell me _where_ you’re putting it?”

“Where do you think?” I snort.

Gawking, he gasps as the realisation hits him. “It’s going _there_?”

“Well, yes. How else did you think we were going to do this?”

Puffing out his cheeks, he shrugs. “I honestly had no idea.”

“Do you still…?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do,” he nods eagerly.

Licking my lips, I nod back and hitch his legs higher so he’s got his knees pressed against his chest. Leaning down, I place one more kiss on his lips before giving myself just enough room to trail my hand downwards.

Marco shivers as I touch him, tensing up a little and wrapping his hands around my neck. He screws his eyes closed, waiting for what he thinks is pain.

“Marco, sweetheart, you need to relax. I know that you think it’ll hurt, but if you’re calm, then it won’t,” I hush, stroking my thumb over his cheek. “You need to trust me, remember?”

Eyes opening again, he nods, taking a deep breath and making himself more comfortable. Once he’s shuffled around a little, he exhales, moving his hands to my shoulders and stroking my skin. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Slowly, I slide one finger in, cautiously noting every miniscule gesture and squirm he makes. He doesn’t tell me to stop, so I keep pushing in as slowly as my eagerness will let me. It’s a slow, patient process, and I don’t notice the tiny whimpers falling from his lips. Coming to a stop, I keep still for a while for him to get used to it, then wait for his response.

“Your fingers are cold,” he grumbles, screwing up his nose as he gets used to the feeling.

“But does it hurt?”

He shakes his head. “It just feels… odd. I’m not exactly used to having things shoved up there.”

“I did not _shove_ it,” I retort. “I eloquently _pushed_ it.”

“Oh, that’s a big wor—ah!” Curling my finger upwards sharply, I cut him off mid-sentence, knowing which feisty comment would follow. “W-what was that?”

Instead of answering him, I slowly slide a second finger in, watching as his mouth hangs open in a gasp. As I press harder, I hum, lazily dragging my lips up Marco’s neck and nibbling his skin. Now used to the feeling, he starts shifting his hips, asking me to move and I do, kissing him slowly and pressing in all the right places.  He breathes out a shivering moan, which only coaxes out one of my own as he rocks against my hand.

“Are you alright?” I ask. Stupid question, really, judging by the way he’s holding onto my neck.

“F-feels really good, Jean… mmph…” he slurs, face going slack and his eyes falling closed.

His legs are shaking, lips trembling, so I flex my fingers and press down over that place that makes his breath rasp. Marco leans back into the bed, back arching languidly as my tongue traces over his collarbone, making him swallow thickly. Soft, lewd moans escape from his mouth in small breaths as I add a third finger. We kiss; our tongues and lips slide together and linger as he runs his hands through my hair, humming into my lips. His chest rises and falls, hands ghosting up my sides ever so gently as his breaths become ragged.

As I pull out, I can hear him grumbling again and I grab the bottle that’s inconveniently rolled even further down the bed.  Pouring some more oil into my palm, Marco watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes as I prep myself, not taking his eyes off me as he twitches, laden with anticipation.

Hovering over him, the two of us laugh softly, not quite getting our heads around what we’re about to do. I’ve never been this close to Marco before and the heat coiling in my gut tells me that I’ve wanted this for a long time – I’ve just been too much of a coward to accept it. Seeing him look at me the way he is now makes me think about everything that’s happened in these last few months. Like when he put his own life at risk to save my own, that night at Maria’s, our first kiss, the day he started calling me his ‘moon and stars’, and so many more instants where I didn’t think I could imagine my life without him. Even in these last few weeks that he’s been gone, I missed him every day.

And now all those moments and the words he’s said to me come crashing down on me as I really _think_ about what he’s asked me to do: _make love to him_.

He hasn’t asked me to fuck him, have sex with him or even sleep with him – he’s asked me to make _love_ to him. And I’m more than happy to oblige.

Hanji was right, I am meant to fight the shadows, and this is the best way I know how to.

“Marco,” I whisper gently, leaning in closer so our lips are only just touching. His eyes blink slowly, staring up into mine and the way he smiles at me makes my heart stop. Caressing his cheek, I rest my forehead against his and smile back. “I love you.”

The grin he gives me as those words begin to sink in is almost dizzying. Drunken, almost relieved eyes blink slowly at me and he runs his hands over me. “I love you too,” he beams, wrapping his legs around me and pulling me in closer.

Another weight is lifted off my chest as I don’t feel the presence of the shadows around us like I thought I would. I was convinced that with the uttering of those words, Marco and I would be cast into darkness just for loving one another.

And we do. I’ve loved him for a very long time; I’ve just never had the courage to tell him. But we are still in darkness. We’re loving one another in a time where love is almost non-existent, yet with Marco around I’m seeing acts of love almost every day. He’s brought optimism back into my life and he makes me see things that I’ve never seen before. With him around, no matter how many threats hang over our heads, I am happy. _We_ are happy.

We are no longer wandering, falling stars – we’re the whole damn sky and everything in it.

Breathing in sync, our hands interlace as I pepper kisses over his cheeks. “Ready?” I rasp over his lips.

“Ready,” he murmurs into me.

I nuzzle him soothingly, drawing him in a little closer as our breaths hitch and our hands cling onto each other. And then I’m pushing into him.

I’m trembling more now than I have ever before, even when I’ve been quaking in my boots. Trying to keep my cool, my thumbs trace idly over his hips, but the more I push and the harder he bites his bottom lip, my self-control begins to slips away and I find myself gripping onto him. My breath comes out faster as the feeling of him around me consumes my senses, and I lean into him to breathe into the crook of his neck.

He’s whimpering, gripping my hair for dear life as we become closer than we ever have before and his chest rises and falls against mine. His eyes stutter closed the more he feels of me and I am no longer coherent. I’m babbling sweet nothings into his skin that probably make no sense, and the only responses I receive from him are tiny whines.

“How you doing?” I just about manage to ask.

“F-fine,” he squeaks. “Just don’t move yet – I need to get used to it.”

“Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head.

Raising myself away from the safety of his skin, I hang over him, spying the necklace around his neck. I guess I’m just so used to him wearing it now that I hardly notice it. Mesmerised, I trace my finger over the engraving, the metal cold against my skin and hook my fingers around the cord to pull him in to kiss me.

Each time I kiss him is sweeter than the last and he breathes into me, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and pulling me in even closer. This causes me to shift a little and he gasps into my mouth. Blearily, he gazes at me, mouth hanging open and completely breathless beneath me. The very entertaining thought of seeing him like this more often plays over and over again in my head.

Soft palms rest against my chest and he smiles at how fast my heart’s beating. “Here,” he says softly, guiding my hand to his own chest and holding it there. His is hammering harder than a drum beat and as quiet settles between us, I even begin to hear it. “Please can you move? I think I’m ready.”

Without an answer, I ever so slowly pull out a fraction of the way and press back in at a cautious pace. I’m too focussed on my movements to notice his facial expressions, but I can hear him whimpering. I’m rolling my hips into his own like he’s made of the purest glass, hearing _my_ name being dragged out in tiny moans and breaths that make my stomach plummet and my lungs stop functioning. It’s the sweetest song I’ve ever heard and I only want more.

“Oh my god, _Jean_ , this is incredible,” he wheezes, running his hands through my hair.

I look up to see dark, half-lidded eyes watching my every move with such intensity that it makes me shiver. If I he keeps looking at me like this, I don’t think I’m going to last for much longer.

“So it doesn’t hurt?” I’m panting, I swear. It’s the way he’s looking at me, I tell you. It’s that mussed, disarrayed hair that’s no longer falling into its perfect parting and those no longer soft, but abyss, dizzy, dark eyes that are swallowing me whole. I’m coming apart like running thread and I feel like I’m floating on air. It’s fucking incredible.

“Not anymore,” he croons, gracing me with the giddiest smile I’ve ever seen. “So beautiful, Jean.”

To hide my burning face, I look down again, watching the way I slide in and out of him _perfectly_ , and the accompaniment of his approving moans only urges me on faster. Once I’m sure that I won’t lose myself the moment I look at him, I lean into his lips again, my self-control now fictional and gasp as I pick up my pace a little.

We’re clinging onto each other like we’ll never see one another again, gasping and wheezing one another’s name and allowing our eyes to sweep over each other’s body. “J-Jean,” he moans into my clammy neck, raking his hands over my back hard enough to leave marks that I’m sure will be visible in the morning.

The only coherent response I can give him is a stuttered and strangled gasp of, “Marc-o.”

Calling my name even louder, his hips twitch up to meet mine and I’m cursing, biting my bottom lip to keep back the sounds building within me. He just sounds and _looks_ too good. Every movement and sound he makes is turning me into a mess, and I have no idea how I’m even going to last if he keeps looking at me like I’m the one who put the stars in the sky.

He’s perfect. Fuck.

When I reach for his hip, my grip trembles as I notice that he’s wrapped his legs around me even tighter and our angle changes.  I can feel his thighs shaking around me as the most _incredible_ sound rips from the back of his throat – clearly I’ve found something good.

I keep rocking into him at our new found slant and the noises he makes only get better. Groans I can no longer hold back that the sky could hear are being coaxed out of me and his hips buck up to meet mine wantonly. Kissing him desperately, I gasp and screw my eyes shut, biting his bottom lip instead of my own and smile stupidly as he laughs at me.

I give him another roll of my hips and I can feel him slowly falling apart around me, his breaths leaving him shallowly and his back arching off the bed. Elation is as bright as the sunrise and it fills the space around us as I call out his name, filling it with all the love I have for him. Each meaningful, sweet whisper, cry and moan passed between us makes my entire body shake and Marco kisses me frantically with desire pooling in his eyes.

“J-Jean,” he gasps, his breath shuddering. “S-something feels _really_ good.”

“Where?” It’s a stupid question, but I need to make sure.

“D-down there.” Shaking, he points to his gut, but cuts himself off from the words he’s about to say with a guttural groan.

Dragging out each sound he makes, I quicken my pace and let him arch up into my chest, hearing his rushed, ragged breath right next to me. I fall apart and snap into him mercilessly as he cries out my name over and over again, each time more desperate than the last. And then he’s kissing me, calling out stuttered oaths of love as he clings onto me.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” The same three words rolls through the thick, breathy air between us and paints it in the most glorious colours as the two of us tumble over the edge, my hips still rolling into him, desperate for this feeling to never end. Heat’s surging throughout my entire core as Marco and I fall together, gasping into each other’s lips and letting our hands fumble around and finally find each other.

As we come down from our high, we lay completely still, breathing in the hot air that we’ve created, my lips buried into his neck and his fingertips tracing down my spine. He swallows thickly, tilting my head to face him and kissing me as innocently as a rose. My body’s still tense, shocked to the very system from what I just felt. I can’t even describe it – Marco’s just different. He’s different in the most incredible way possible.

“Jean?”

Fuck, my name tastes amazing on his lips.

“Mhm?”

“You’re glowing, my love,” he smiles softly, reaching his hand up to slowly caress my cheek.

I laugh gently, holding him like he’s made of paper, fragile and light. But he laughs harder than me and shakes his head.

“No, really. You _are_ glowing.”

Frowning, I glance over at my hand and Marco’s hilarity washes over me.

He wasn’t lying – I really am glowing. It’s only slight, but there are definitely rays of light coming out of my skin. Yet I don’t bother to do anything about it except beam at the incredible person lying beneath me with a smile that could make flowers grow. I’m just too happy to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some visual aids for the stuff in the weapons chest because it all looks awesome:  
> [Marco's quiver](http://40.media.tumblr.com/64959a200af069156341639452c5223e/tumblr_n9kjzjNGXs1rgi434o1_1280.jpg), [Marco's bow](http://40.media.tumblr.com/b3663f62b7dabc24ee25fc522736ce1f/tumblr_n6mgbqiFTt1tczyuto1_1280.jpg), [Jean's sword](http://36.media.tumblr.com/166ad5563228f14339bbc31fe5489855/tumblr_nbq82lh3yU1s5o057o1_1280.jpg), [Marco's daggers](http://s1054.photobucket.com/user/wvmoon556/media/DSC02108.jpg.html) and [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/30e0cc928217725033e2926483f18459/tumblr_nb8fs8vg261rhjvdqo1_1280.jpg) is what the armour is based on.
> 
> Next chapter: Levi loses his shit a lot and Marco "learns" how to become a killer.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	10. Our Eyes Aren't What Make Us See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I’m sorry for the late update. I’ve had exams on recently and I’ve been working really hard for them, and I’ve been busy in general. But I should be updating a little more regularly now.  
> Secondly, I have been bitten in the butt by the fanart fairy recently and there are a few people I’d like to thank.  
> I’d like to say a huge mahoosive thank you to [call-the-wincheeseters](http://call-the-wincheeseters.tumblr.com/) for creating [all](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/104421903634/call-the-wincheeseters-soooo-i-heard-that) [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/103645869649/call-the-wincheeseters-i-know-its-kinda-awful) [gorgeous](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/102966285464/call-the-wincheeseters-sketches-sketches) [fanart](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/102724271569/call-the-wincheeseters-crappy-quick-sketches)! I mean holy shit there’s about four of them there and they’re all gorgeous so please go and check them out!  
> I’d also like to thank mah bff, [lotus-in-space](http://lotus-in-space.tumblr.com/), for [my lovely birthday present](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/104362133464/lotus-in-space-completely-ignoring-the), [jaddice](http://jaddice.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/106797001129/jaddice-fanart-for-livsws) lovely drawing of Marco and [chibichan449](http://chibichan449.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/107399033700/chibichan449-this-is-actually-the-very-first) cute-ass sketch! Thank you so much!  
> Unfortunately, there isn’t much Jean in this chapter because I guess this one is kinda about Levi. But he is there.  
> Warnings for this chapter: blood and a bit of violence.  
> Enjoy!

For the first night in months, I didn’t wake up in the dead of night screaming. I didn’t stir once. With Jean’s heavy, dreary breath hot against my back, the dreams and sights that haunt me in the evenings couldn’t touch me. They didn’t touch Jean either. He didn’t rouse once throughout the night and kept his arm tight around me the whole time. I’m beginning to believe that when we’re no longer alone, we are not vulnerable to the darkness’s deception and horror.

For the first night in months, I fell asleep not dreading the coming morning and the patronising glares of my superiors. I knew that I’d wake to the one I call mine, wrapped around me like the bond that keeps pulling me back to him no matter how many times we lose ourselves.

Not once during those events that occurred the previous evening did I think about my family at the castle. Nor did I fret about what I’ll say to Petra when I stumble into my room later. All of it became irrelevant in those dark hours of nightfall that I spent with Jean.

I don’t even know what came over me when I asked him to do what he did. It was like an impulse that had been growing within me for such a long time that I felt like I had to let it out. And I don’t regret a moment of it. In those moments, I felt things that I have never felt before – and not just physically. I felt love and it was more beautiful than I ever imagined.

Where I come from, you don’t marry for love; you marry for money and power. That’s how my mother and father ended up together and although my father cared about her, he never truly loved her. I was brought up in a home where that kind of love between two people was missing. I’ve experienced all kinds of emotions throughout my life, but never the one that I feel for Jean. I’ve never felt the kind of love when you’re so desperate to kiss them until the sun rises that it’s all you think about; or the kind of love that you could see yourself happily spending the rest of your life with that person right by your side. No. I’ve never seen that kind before – I’ve just been lucky enough to experience it myself.

Even now as I blearily open my eyes and squint at the dull light filling the room and feel and unfamiliar weight resting against me, I can still feel all the passions that affected me last night coursing through my blood stream.

A sloppy, still glowing arm winds around my waist and the feeling of bare skin presses up against my back and intertwines around my legs. Being the only source of light in the room, I’m almost blinded as I shift under the sheets to face Jean, still half asleep and grinning at me lazily.

“G’morning, love,” he mumbles idly as nuzzle into him.

“Good morning,” I yawn, rubbing my eyes and trying to get used to the light he’s giving off. It’s not as bright as it was last night, but it’s still there. He’s never done this before, yet for some reason neither of us seem to care. We’ve had stranger things happen to us than this.

The more I close into him, the brighter he seems to get and I think I’m about to lose my sight for good. “Is there any way to possibly… dim you?” I laugh, snaking my arms around him.

“Whad’ya mean?”

“You’re still glowing, my love. It’s pretty bright.”

“Am I?” he frowns, wrapping himself around me tighter.

“You are,” I giggle, letting him grumble into me. “You’re glowing brighter than any star.”

“I _am_ a fucking star.”

Staring at him endearingly, he rises himself off the bed just enough to run a hand through his hair, rustling it up even more than it already was from where my own hands have raked through it. “Of course you are… a really, _really_ bright star.”

He snorts, slumping back into the mattress and my body heat. “Sorry,” he mumbles into my shoulder. I can _feel_ the grin in his voice.

Languidly, he runs his fingers down my back, feeling every bump and dent imprinted on me and he hums when I kiss his cheek lightly. Coming away from the confines of the shelter I’m creating around him, he flops onto his back with a radiant smile on his face, illuminated even more by the rays of sunshine burning on his skin. He looks at me with the spark in his eyes that I haven’t seen for so long and have missed so much. Grinning back at him, I fall onto his chest, winding him for a moment and making him huff.

“There appears to be a lump on me,” comes his strained voice as I shift on top of him a little.

Although I wish there was a way to keep the atmosphere we’ve held so far, there are things that we need to discuss that I’m sure I won’t be able to bring myself to talk about at a later time. There are things that can no longer be left unsaid that have been haunting my mind more than my dreams.

When Jean sees that my face is no longer taking on the joking tone that his is, his own face falls slowly, sensing that something in the ambience has changed.

“Jean?” I whisper, resting my head on his chest. Hesitantly, he hums. “Please can you promise me something?”

“Depends on what it is, princess.”

Giggling softly and appreciating his attempt to make this less serious than it is, I rise up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. He sighs into me, relaxing under my touch and twiddling a strand of my hair between his fingertips.

Before I get carried away, I latch on to Jean’s plan to get me to forget what I was mean to say and pull away from him just a fraction. I give him my most serious stare, hoping that he’ll actually listen and not run away. But the feeling of his fingertips in my hair make my heart stutter for a moment and I almost lose myself in his adoring gaze.

“Please don’t ever send me away like that again.” The words come out quick and sharp like the crack of a whip against the air.

All goes quiet between us as my utterings shrivel and die right before me under Jean’s fiery eyes.

The twiddling stops as his eyes widen and then turn away from me. Shifting, he attempts to move away. Luckily for me, I have my entire weight resting on top of him so he can’t attempt to run like he did last night.

“Marco, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“ _Jean_ ,” I whine, burying my face into his neck. “ _Please_. Just promise me. I don’t think I could bear to live through that again.”

Calloused fingertips run over my spine in ritual as I curl into him as much as I can, not willing to let him slip away as easily as I allowed last time. I grip his shoulders tightly, just to keep him near me and then he finally lies still.

Breathing heavy, his hand returns to the mussed locks of my hair and he kisses my neck softly. “I won’t,” he breathes. “But you must promise me something in return.”

I look up at him with what I intend to be hope gleaming in my eyes. “Anything.”

I expect his face to change to some form of solemn expression, followed by a long, meaningful speech. But instead he gives me a very simple instruction that only takes two words to make it engraved in my bones: “Don’t die.”

Endearingly, I smile at him and limply fall into him again, huffing into his skin. “Do you really still believe that I’ll die?”

“It’s not like that. I’m just wo—“

“Marco!”

Jean’s glow disappears in terror as a rumbling voice booms throughout the entire house and we hear Gumbie yowling and hissing below.

Enraged footsteps storm up the stairs like a clunking hurricane and we dive under the covers without giving it a second thought. Clinging to each other to hide our bare bodies, Jean looks at me with wide, panicked eyes and grips my arm with trembling fingers. He holds me close and breathes raggedly as his chest heaves. The stomps only come closer.

“Marco, I know you’re in here!”

We stay utterly still as Jean’s bedroom door creaks open and a cold, lifeless presence enters the room. Curling into him with my eyes screwed shut, I prepare myself for the worst.

The footsteps draw closer, achingly slow and then they finally settle right beside us.

My heart’s thundering against Jean’s as we hold each other under the pathetically thin barrier of the sheets, the icy presence making both of us shiver as the very warmth is dragged out of us like a fire slowly burning out. We can only wait in fear as the room becomes deathly silent, aside from my shaken breath.

“Get up,” an exasperated voice sighs.

Although I recognise the voice instantly, neither of us move.

Levi huffs harder, displaying his annoyance and then kicks the side of the bed. “Marco, get the fuck up and put your fucking clothes on. We’re going home.”

The spite in his voice makes my insides twinge and I reluctantly let go of Jean’s body and slowly open my eyes. Only the dim outline of Jean’s form faces me and I feel as if my entire bottom half has turned to stone. I have no motivation nor want to move away from his touch and into Levi’s glare.

However, it’s not me or Levi that pulls back the covers – it’s Jean.

More light shines into my eyes as Levi slams open the window shutters and I hold my hand over them, shielding myself from the sudden burst of light.

“So you _are_ awake?” Levi scowls as he towers over us for once. He glares at Jean with dark, beady eyes that could rip him in half. “Did you have fun last night?”

I sit up with Jean following close behind, basking in the morning air and staring at Levi groggily. Relaxing into my lover’s soothing touch on my back, I almost forget the raging glare Levi’s aiming at the both of us, both probably looking a mess and lying bare in a bed together. It’s probably not what Levi wanted to see this morning.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble sheepishly.

“I don’t care. Just get dressed and meet me outside before Erwin realises that I’m missing.”

“Erwin’s here?!” Jean splutters, lurching forwards and nearly jumping out of bed, then realising that he’s not wearing any clothes and sitting restlessly on the edge of the bed.

“No.”

“Does he know _I’m_ here?” I ask nervously, resting my hand on the small of Jean’s back, attempting to get him to calm down.

“No. He has no idea.” An audible sigh of relief leaves my lungs and I run a hand through my knotted hair as Levi begins to walk away. “That’s why I suggest that your hurry up so we can get back before he notices.”

With that, he leaves, his echoes of aggravated trudges booming down the stairs and out the front door. He slams it shut for good measure.

“He’s going to kill me,” I sigh as I flop backwards into the dishevelled sheets and thin pillows. “I completely forgot to go back.”

Staying silent and completely frozen, Jean hasn’t moved from his position on the edge of the bed. He presses his lips into his interlocked fingers and closes his eyes, spacing out for a moment and then lies beside me, staring up at the ceiling vacantly. “Marco,” he sighs, “what’re we going to do?”

“About what?”

“Levi,” he says like it’s obvious.

I get up and pick my discarded clothes up off the floor, bringing them back to the bed in a big jumble. “Nothing. We do nothing,” I say as Jean fumbles through my clothes before finding my tunic for me and shoving it over my head, stroking my wrists tentatively as he does so.

“But he _knows_.”

“Something tells me that he’s known for a long time. He won’t say anything…” My head pops out from under the material and my arms become covered “… he just won’t lie for me, either.”

Jean stays silent and continues to dress me, kissing every last bit of skin before it becomes hidden with clothing. He takes as much time as he can and is slow as he touches me one more time before I leave, casting his mind back to the night before and whispering small praises in my ear.

Once I’m ready, he wraps himself up in the sheet and sleepily guides me downstairs, not letting go of my hand once, even when I nearly trip over the trail of white he’s leaving behind.

Gumbie is standing tall on the countertop when we reach the final step, greeting me goodbye with small yowls of disappointment. I run my hand along his spine as I go, to which he nuzzles into my palm.

When Jean opens the front door, I see Levi waiting for me, holding the reins of two tall horses. “Say goodbye and then we’ll go,” he says gruffly, hoisting himself up into the saddle of one of the horses. He doesn’t look me in the eye once.

Doing as Levi says, I turn to the seemingly sleep-deprived Jean leaning casually against the doorway, smiling slyly at me with his arms folded to hold the sheet over his body. “So you really have to go?” he asks, knowing full well that I do.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I promise him, caressing his cheek and resting my forehead against his.

The sheet drops behind the shield of my body as he snakes his arms around my waist and kisses me softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Keeping Jean’s (probably) accidental starkness from Levi, he scampers into the shop with a grin on his face and shuts the door behind him. Once he’s out of sight, I turn to face Levi, whose expression has turned from annoyed to utterly _violent_.

It’s going to be a long ride home.

 

* * *

 

We ride in silence at first, him galloping a few paces ahead of me as to not look me in the eye and me keeping my own eyes forwards and deciding how I’m going to get out of this.

Although Erwin has no idea that I was even out of the castle, he must have realised that I wasn’t at breakfast. I’ve given up on my usual excuse of feeling ill in fear that Erwin will send for a doctor since I say it all the time. So I’ve got to think of something else to say… except I have nothing to tell him.

There’s no way that I could possibly tell him the truth or he’ll tell my father and all of this will come crashing to the ground and I’ll never see Jean again. Or worse – he’d be killed.

As much as I do trust Erwin – I always have – things like this aren’t exactly _legal_.

But what if he just knows anyway? What if he’ll be able to just tell that I spent the night with another man? Things like that must be obvious, like a mark placed on my forehead to distinguish that I’m caught up in this forbidden love affair. It would cause one of the biggest scandals in my family’s history. And then just like that… it would all be over.

I feel sick just from the thought of it.

The nightmarish image of the burning bonfire I see in my dreams flashes into my mind, blinding me for a moment and I lose control of my horse for an instant too long. Before I can regain control over the reins, my horse is speeding ahead in a state of panic, bumping and bounding me about as I try desperately to grab onto its mane (or anything I can grab).

Levi’s shouts of my name become a blur as I pull myself up again and wrap my hands around my horse’s neck to keep myself on its back. It’s careering away from Levi as fast as its legs can carry it and dangerously close to an oncoming cage of black with only the tiniest opening in between the towering trees.

Chills run down my back as my horse stumbles to a halt, terrified to go any further and I come face-to-face with the Forest of Tall Trees.

The sight before me is truly chilling. The lack of any kind of life between the trees or amidst them makes my hairs stand on end and the breath in my lungs become heavy like stone. The more I look down the trail, the darker it gets, stretching on for what seems like an eternity. I don’t remember it being this dark when I first entered Trost. But I supposed being here has changed my perception on things.

Even though the thought shakes me to the bone, I hope to one day walk down that track and escape from all of this with Jean by my side.

Huffing and with panic in his eyes, Levi pulls up beside me and stares down the dark and dingy trail. The horses grow silent as they’re captivated by the eerie fog dispatching from the trees and the black atmosphere mutes every being nearby. I can’t even hear the crows calling like they usually do.

Glancing to the side, I watch as Levi’s eyes become more emotionless than I have ever seen them. All the colour drains from his face as he stares aimlessly into the mist and he grips onto the leather reins so tight that I fear his palms may bleed. He visibly gulps and turns to me with dread written all over him.

“We should leave,” he hurries, checking behind him with caution as he turns his horse around to go. His eyes don’t leave the shadows within the trees once until he glares at me to follow his actions.

Once I’m facing the other way and my eyes are facing a dying land instead of my way out of here, Levi speeds ahead as fast as his horse will let him. Now feeling the unease in my gut, I follow him, not looking back once.

“What did you see?” I call as we rush through the barren country and as far away from the path as possible.

“Nothing,” he rumbles, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him.

I grip the leather harder and grit my teeth. Every word that has left his lips and every move he’s made towards me has been much colder than usual. I _know_ what’s out there and he must know too. He just doesn’t want to talk to me because of Jean, and the silence he’s giving me is a treatment I’ve experienced too many times before. It’s the kind of thing I’d expect from my father – but not Levi.

I race forwards so I’m in front of him and come to a sudden stop. When I turn, I see Levi glaring at me with a storm in his eyes as he slows in front of the pathetic block I’ve made. Although he can easily get around me, he stops and sighs irately. “What is it, Marco?”

“What’s bothering you?” I ask bluntly. There’s no time to be cautious and I know that Levi doesn’t appreciate it if I don’t get straight to the point.

“Excuse me?” he frowns.

“Something’s bothering you. I can tell, Levi, I’m not an idiot.”

He scoffs indignantly, shaking his head and keeping his eyes low. His shoulders slowly rise as he breathes out a shiver from the wind rippling through his clothes. It seems that everything around me is cold. And he still doesn’t answer me.

“Is it about what Jean and I did last night? Is that why—“

“No,” he says curtly. Unshaken by the cold and seemingly composed, he lifts his head to face me and his usual stony expression returns. “It’s got nothing to do with where you put your dick, Marco. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about what you and the witch do in your free time. This is about your future.”

Shrinking back a little, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what he has to say. It can’t be good, judging by the way he’s been acting all morning... Come to think of it, Levi’s been on edge for weeks. I don’t know what’s triggered it, but he’s been distant and I rarely see him around the castle now. Whenever I do see him, he’s jumpy and always checking over his shoulder like something’s following him. I could almost swear that sometimes I can see him shaking.

His chest rises and falls slowly, taking the ice cold air into his lungs in hopes of a shock to the system to get a comprehensible sentence out of him. And then he speaks with regret in his eyes. “You should have listened to him when he told you not to come back. He’s not worth all of this.”

My first instinct is to retaliate, of course. For months I’ve had my friends and those that care about me telling me that seeing Jean is wrong, or dangerous. I was convinced that although Levi didn’t agree with it, he wouldn’t comment. Clearly he’s changed his mind.

“Levi, I love him,” I say breathlessly, taking note of the agitation growing within both of us.

“And I understand that. But your safety is a much greater concern of mine compared to your love life,” he says coldly, not taking his grey eyes off me that are slowly beginning to swirl with ire.

Yet I continue to argue. “Levi, he’s not da—“

“Listen to me!” he screams, desperation clinging to every word.

My heart catches in my throat and I swallow it down before leaves me completely. The sudden shrillness to his voice pierces the air like ice and it makes my lungs stop for a moment. I draw in a shaken, shallow breath with my lip trembling as I watch him intently.

“I _know_ he’s not dangerous, Marco. I was wrong about that. But if you stay with him…” He stops and rakes a trembling hand through his hair. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s falling apart in front of me so quickly and it’s disturbing just to look at him like this. He’s meant to be the one that protects me, but yet he’s panicking right before my eyes.

“Levi?” I wheeze pitifully, urging my horse to approach him slowly.

“It’s not _him_ that’s the problem. It’s what’s around him that I’m worried about,” he breathes, panic rising. “I could feel them whilst I was in that house. I can feel them watching me – watching _you_.”

“Me?” I inhale sharply, cautious not to say too much in case Levi decides to stop talking.

“They don’t want Jean, they want you. I don’t know why but there’s something out there that wants you more than him and it’s getting them to watch you.” Hands grip the leather reigns like claws on prey as his head begins to hang forwards and drop like his sanity. “I feel them fucking everywhere – in the castle, in the shop… Does he even know what he’s doing to you by letting you stay with him?!”

Everything is escalating out of my control and I find myself rattled with confusion as Levi spews riddles from his lips. “Levi, who’s ‘they’?” I ask warily.

He doesn’t hear me. He’s too busy babbling to himself as his mind withers away to even give me a second thought. His usual blank composure has failed him as all the pressure he’s been under gets to be too much.

“I should have listened to Mike when he came for me. I should have told the witch about you. I should have told _you_. I should be protecting you, instead I’ve lead you in to this mess when I had so many fucking opportunities to end it,” he drones to the both of us.  He laughs insanely to himself with wide, bloodshot eyes and a manic grin that looks as if it’s been carved into his face with a knife. The sight of his madness makes my insides twist. “The Caedem are after the prince. Who’d have thought?” he howls.

Overcome by the loss of Levi’s mind, I begin to lose touch with my senses topple sideways off my horse and into the hard ground, experiencing a sensation that can only be described as spine shattering. I lay paralysed in the dirt, unable to move as the theories in my head begin to fit together like broken glass one piece at a time.

Something’s out to get me, and now I’m beginning to realise what.

 

* * *

 

“Petra!” I scream as Levi and I stumble into the castle. I’m holding all of his dead weight on my shoulder as I practically carry him in. He’s shaking and unable to move – he’s been like this since he broke down earlier.

I must be midday by now, I’m sure of it. I’m going to be in so much trouble for this, but right now my main concern is Levi.

It’s like he’s under some kind of enchantment, blethering to himself in noises that are meant to form words and his eyes pacing around the room, his breath shaking each time he spots movement.

“Everywhere,” he shakes. “They’re everywhere. They’re in the castle. They’re in the walls. They can hear everything you’re saying…”

“Petra?! Erd?! Anyone?!” My voice evokes no answer or signs of life as it bellows through the stone halls. It’s like the entire place has been deserted and I’ve been left all alone here with a quivering vampire in my arms.

“Marco?” A booming voice travels from the direction of the great hall and loud footsteps thunder towards us, becoming louder and louder the more panicked the voice becomes. “Marco!”

“Uncle!” I exclaim as he appears under an archway, shoulders tenses and fists balled.

He storms over, rage radiating from him as he spots me. However, that expression morphs from wrath to fear as he spots the broken man hanging over my shoulder like a corpse. “What happened?” Erwin trembles as he smells the pungent odour of death hanging above us.

“I don’t know,” I swallow. “He panicked and then he just broke down. I haven’t been able to get him back the whole way home.”

Without a second thought or glance, Erwin beckons me to follow him as he calls out to the rest of the Elite Guard for “backup”.

An awful, stomach knotting feeling arises within me, a warning that this has happened before.

Multitudinous, rushed breaths and footfalls echo behind me and I soon feel Levi’s weight being pried off me by no other than Reiner and Bertholdt. The rest of the Elite Guard are behind them as they all swarm me, creating a barrier of bodies as Levi is carried further ahead and up the stairs, his manic laugh echoing around the halls like an ominous prediction. I catch a glimpse of all too familiar black eyes as he’s transported away on a bed of bodies, cackling and screaming.

The barrier around me freezes and Petra turns to me apologetically. “We’ll take it from here, Marco,” she nods, signalling to the others to move.

On her command, the blockade falls and the others all rush up the stairs to help Levi.

The sound of a wooden door slamming closed fills the room and screams of torture ring in my ears. I wince at the broken cries of the fallen as he’s brought out of himself and I can do nothing to help him.

“Let me see him,” I beg.

Petra shakes her head. “I can’t. You have no idea what Levi turns in to when he gets like this.”

“I _know_ what he is.”

On the brink of breaking down herself, Petra places a soothing hand on my cheek and droplets from my own eyes begin to run over her fingers. “No you don’t, Marco. You have no idea what he can become.”

More roars and screams rip through the atmosphere as Levi is held down by the force of eight individuals, each one now coming to terms with what Levi really is. Even though I have now realised that they all knew anyway, by the way Petra’s looking at me, I don’t think they’ll ever get used to the feeling of inhabiting this place with things beyond reality.

No matter how many times I encounter the unknown, I’ll never get used to the feeling of staring the possibility of death right in the face.

 

* * *

 

Erwin keeps pacing around my room like a madman, unable to give me eye contact and keeping his glare fixed on the stone ground.

In a way, I feel sorry for the floor having to endure Erwin’s glower of rage as he stomps over it. It must be painful. But I’m just glad that he’s not directing it at me yet.

He’s already lectured me twice about how dangerous it is outside the walls and that if I hadn’t gone out, Levi wouldn’t have… Well, he never said what happened and I don’t think he will. But I have a pretty clear idea of what happened in that room.

I just hope he gets this over with and leaves soon.

Thinking too soon, he stops and raises his head to watch me fidget on the edge of my bed uncomfortably under his wrathful eye and thin lips. His entire tone is cold and unforgiving as he approaches me slowly, the heavy clomp of his boots thundering like my heartbeat.

Towering over me, he folds his arms over his chest and growls, “How did you get out?”

Honestly, I’m quite surprised that wasn’t the first question that he’d asked me the moment he asked to “chat”. I would have thought that would have been the first thing on his mind. But it wasn’t. He was more worried about what Levi had done rather than my escape methods.

“The gate was open,” I rush, wheezing out the last breath of air from my lungs as I lie to my uncle yet again. “Th-the gate was open, s-so I went out.”

“Why?” he asks, unconvinced.

“I wanted to see Trost. I’m sorry, Uncle, it won’t happen again.” I just want to get this over with. It’s best to just apologise and not mean it, than argue and be in here all day.

I lower my head to avoid his eyes and scratch the back of my neck. I’m trying my best to seem as innocent as I can, but the constant worry of his knowing only burns hotter within me.

He must be able to tell. Maybe something happens to you when you’re no longer a virgin that everyone else can see so they can pick you out, but I just haven’t noticed it yet. I’m sure it’s written all over me like ink on paper. That’s why he’s glaring at me. He can’t believe that sorry excuse. He _must_ know.

Erwin sighs and I feel the tension hovering between us slowly relax as he turns away from me. I breathe a sigh of relief as the subject of last night isn’t brought up.

“Marco,” he begins, “I really do hope that’s the truth. You do realise that we keep you here for your own safety under your father’s orders, yes?”

“Yes, Uncle,” I nod.

He turns to me again, a soft smile gracing his expression. “I understand that it’s hard being here, Marco. And I realise that you miss Jinae, but this is your home now until you become king. We just want to keep you safe from what’s out there.”

Something tells me that Erwin really has no idea of what’s actually lurking in the shadows. Or even in the walls, according to Levi. A sinking feeling washes over me as I begin to acknowledge his misunderstanding of the world around him and how beautiful it can really be. A part of me pities those who haven’t seen both the atrocities and beauties I’ve seen in this life. Not knowing how this world truly works is a burden most of my family have to bear and the fact that I must keep quiet about it makes it worse.

As Erwin strolls towards my door to leave, he glances behind him one last time, his smile gone, but the feeling of sympathy swelling in his eyes. “I don’t believe you, Marco,” he states, “but just make sure it doesn’t happen again and I won’t question you.”

With those final words hanging in the air like sirens, he leaves me be, closing my door behind him softly. I listen intently as his footsteps slowly fade into nothing and once again, I’m alone.

 

* * *

 

Levi hasn’t spoken for days. I’ve barely seen him and whenever I have, he refuses to look at me. He looks different, too. Gaunt, lifeless – he looks even more dead than usual. But it’s his bloodshot eyes and the hollowed, gouged out chasms that surround them that send chills down my spine. It’s like he’s not even looking at anything, just looking out into nothingness and only seeing black in return.

I’m beginning to wonder what did really happen that day. Nothing’s been the same since and even Jean’s beginning to notice the slight edge in my voice whenever Levi is mentioned in conversation and my constant fretting about his well-being.

Jean even sent me home early yesterday because I wasn’t fit for working. He’s worried, too. Everyone is.

I’m terrified of what’s slowly becoming of Levi, and I’m beginning to believe that maybe he’s lived too many lives to tolerate another. I don’t even know how old he is, yet I’m certain that he’s lived too many to even be comfortable watching every mortal around him.

I can’t imagine living like that. I couldn’t bear to have the power to live forever whilst everyone I love dies around me one-by-one. I don’t even want to imagine what I’d be like if I had to watch Jean die. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself.

But Levi? He’s probably seen so many people around him die… I think it’s finally hit him all at once.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass. And despite Erwin’s warning, I go to see Jean every day.

Everything with him is the same, if not better. The smile he greets me with each time I walk through the door makes my heart skip a beat and my lungs swell with air, and each time he says “I love you” makes my heart melt a little more. Each word that passes his lips is sweeter than the last and I can’t help the feeling of falling head-over-heels for him. Yet each time I see him, he always manages to find a new place on my body where he hasn’t put his mouth on me.

It’s quieter now, aside from Eren’s random outbursts into the shop in the form of an animal definitely not of his choice, usually growling at Jean to help him change back. Somehow he hasn’t quite realised that the only way he can change back is if he controls his temper. As easy as it sounds, according to Jean, Eren’s the kind of person who would find that incredibly difficult.

Although my affair with Jean is still stronger than ever, Levi is still deteriorating on his own. Petra often attempts to talk to him, but he just gives her the cold shoulder and leaves her frozen. I think she can see it too – the new sharpness in Levi’s eyes that makes you feel like you’ve been stabbed each time he looks at you. I’ve only seen it once, but I dare not do it again.

It’s almost like he _wants_ to be alone. But although some can, not many can handle their emotions alone or the scars on their hands from the people they’ve loved and lost.

I’ve always seen Levi as the most prominent father-figure in my life. I’ve never viewed him as one, but he does what all fathers should: protect me. He is not like my own father at all who believes that keeping me in a cage is keeping me safe, but he allows me to be free whilst watching me closely, more than my own father ever has. I suppose I’ve always secretly looked up to him. Even though I’ve seen him like this, a part of me still does. But at least now I know to never compare humans to the petals on a flower or the rain in a storm; they don’t look beautiful once they’ve fallen down. I don’t understand why I haven’t grasped that before.

 

* * *

 

“Just ask him,” Jean suggests as we lay completely still, bathing in the now cold air that chills us both to the bone. We were warm until I brought up the subject of Levi.

“It’s more complicated than that,” I exhale as Jean shifts into me a little closer from the cold, the feeling of his fingertips only the slightest brush over my chest. “He doesn’t speak to anyone anymore. He trains, I think he eats occasionally and then returns to his room. That’s all. I don’t even see him at dinner anymore. There’s literally no way that I can speak to him.”

Jean lies back into the pillows and stares up at the ceiling. He’s either trying to come up with a solution to my problem, or his attention span’s run out and he’s started counting all the cracks above us. Something tells me it’s the latter.

“Thirty four,” I chime in.

“What?”

“There are thirty four cracks on the ceiling. I’ve counted them before.”

“Well thank you for ruining my fun,” he giggles, attempting to make the situation lighter. It doesn’t work. The weight of Levi’s misery still hangs over my head like a storm cloud, just waiting for the right moment to rain down on me.

He sighs, opening his arms out for me to lie on his bare chest. I do, since the sound of his heart beat in my ear is the only thing that seems to calm me. “I understand that there’s a lot of shit going on at the moment, and I know that I often don’t pay attention as much as I should, but you know I’m always here, right?” he says softly.

“I know,” I smile gently as I place a small kiss on the corner of his quirked lips.

“I’ll be your brick wall whenever you want.”

“Brick?”                              

“Mhm.” He nods, rolling us over until my back lands comfortably on the mattress and his weight is on top of me, his breathing harmonising with mine as we meld into one another. “Sometimes we don’t need an answer; we just need a face to talk to. And I’ll do that for you – whenever you want it.”

Drawing him into me, I breathe in his scent, knowing that he has to go soon. He always does when we do this. I should be used to it by now, but each time he leaves hurts a little more. It feels like each time really is the last time I’ll ever see him.

I suppose with the threat of what’s out there, it’s not impossible.

“I love you, my moon and stars,” I tell him firmly. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Are you trying to get me to stay a little longer?” he smirks, running his fingertip over my swollen, red lips. “Because you know I can’t.” His touch trails from my mouth and down my neck, ever so softly. Contradicting his own words, Jean places his hand on my chest, feeling my heart pump life through me and he becomes transfixed by the feeling.

“If you want to stay, stay,” I plea, holding my hand over his. “I haven’t spent a whole night with you in weeks and I’m missing the feeling of sleeping peacefully again.”

For a moment, he looks as if he’s genuinely considering it. We both know it’s mad, though. If someone found the two of us in the state we are right now, then we’d be done for. I think that’s the thought that causes Jean to solemnly shake his head and collapse into me.

“You know I want to stay, Marco,” he sighs. “I just can’t.”

“I know.”

He lifts his head, taking all of me in and then he smiles, almost menacingly.

“What?” I frown, giggling as his smile spreads into a grin.

“I forbid you to see me tomorrow,” he says gleefully.

“ _What_?!” I lurch forwards from the comfort of my mattress as he begins to laugh manically.

He sits himself in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck, pressing a kiss against my cheek audaciously. “You’re going to sort this out with Levi—“ I open my mouth to explain why that’s a stupid idea, but he presses his lips against me so I’ll shut up. It works, of course. “—And you’ll sort it by going after him the very moment he finishes training. Don’t let him get away, find out what’s going on and put it all behind you, alright?”

“Why are you so concerned about Levi? I thought you couldn’t stand him?”

“I can’t. He always looks like someone’s shoved a stick up his ass and he’s a grumpy fuck, anyway. But clearly it’s bothering you, and whatever bothers you bothers me.”

I pull him into me even more and hold him close, laughing into his neck. I don’t think I’m quite used to having someone like Jean around. He surprises me more and more every day. “You’re mad, I tell you.”

“But you’re in love with me, so I don’t care,” he grins as he pulls away. “But I really do have to go now before I get caught with the prince butt naked.”

“Fine,” I sigh as I fall back into the pillows and watch as he gets up and stumbles around my room, attempting to find his clothes.

One item at a time, he dresses himself whilst tripping over his own feet every now and then. And once he’s dressed, he tells me that he loves me one more time and reminds me to talk to Levi again.

“If you come into the shop looking miserable next time I see you,” he begins, “I’ll drag you back here myself and I’ll hold you _both_ down whilst you talk to him. Alright?”

He sounds like he means it, so I nod. “Alright.”

Smiling like he’s just climbed a mountain, Jean stands over me one more time and kisses my forehead softly. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.”

By the time I open my eyes again, he’s gone and I’m left only with a broken hag stone and the memory of his recent touch to keep me safe from what lurks within the walls.

 

* * *

 

Petra doesn’t wake me up in the morning. She hasn’t for a few days now and I’m beginning to wonder if something’s happened. She’s always the one to get me out of bed unless she’s got training first thing. But Levi’s not as bad as he seems and rarely makes her train at the crack of dawn.

So either Levi’s in a really bad mood with me for whatever reason and is making Petra train earlier, or she just doesn’t want to see me in the mornings anymore. But yet the queasy feeling in my gut tells me that it’s so much more than that.

Despite my sickening stomach and the constant feeling of anxiety crawling over my back each time I turn a corner, I leave the Great Hall and Erwin behind after breakfast to look for Levi. As I expected, he wasn’t by my uncle’s side like he usually is. He never is anymore.

The first place I look is the training grounds, just as Jean has suggested. As I stand at the edge of the tiny arena of stone, the only thing I see is Bertholdt getting pummelled into the ground by no other than Annie whilst Reiner looks on in hysterics. The whole place is deserted aside from them. No Gunther shouting at me for not being in my room. No Erd calmly sharpening his sword like he’s about to chop someone’s head off. I don’t even see Oluo trying his luck with Petra and getting nowhere.

Usually when I come here the sounds of metal clanging, swords crashing and the laughter of those I trust the most are the only things that ring true, and it fills me with a strange excitement that makes me want to go and join them. When I come here, I want to be reckless. I want to do what they do and fight.

It doesn’t feel normal, the three of them there all alone whilst Reiner’s guffaws echo over the stone, creating only the tiniest ripples. It just doesn’t feel right – like something’s missing.

But this is so different. It’s empty and cold. Even Reiner’s laughs sound hollow and Annie’s insults don’t seem to bring the same quirk to my lips like they used to. Everything in this place just seems so empty and false now, and I don’t understand why.

“Marco?” Bertholdt calls as he’s pulled up by Annie like a sack of potatoes. His voice travels through the arena as cold as the air carrying it and once it reaches me, I’m frozen in my place. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be with your friend by now.”

Well, he’s a little more than a friend, and he knows that. The other two, however, have no idea. But I know that Annie has her suspicions. She’s learnt that from Levi: be suspicious of everything. It just goes to show how well he’s trained her over the years.

“I’m looking for Levi,” I call back, getting straight to the point. It’s cold out here and I want to get this day over and done with so I can go back to Jean tomorrow without this twinging awkwardness between us, all due to my unrest over this ridiculous situation. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s in his room,” Annie tells me, walking over slowly as Bertholdt recuperates from his defeat with the help of a certain blond bulk.

The closer she gets to me, the colder I become. The impaling glare she’s giving me is much harsher than I’m used to. Her eyes are sunken into her sockets, I’m assuming from lack of sleep, and the usual bright blue that I‘m always chilled to the bone by has been smeared away until it’s colourless and dull. I can’t see why, though. She’s not the one with a temperamental vampire on her hands.

She comes to a pause only a fraction away from me. The steam from her mouth clings to my skin like leeches and her stare is starting to suck the life out of me. “He said that he didn’t want to be disturbed,” she says barely over a whisper.

“You know what happened that day,” I rush, holding my hand to her shoulder in hopes that she won’t try and get away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters, her eyes darting away from mine as her face remains unreadable.

“I think you do.”

She doesn’t say a word. And as Reiner and Bertholdt come closer, worried expressions gracing their faces, I realise that my time to make any sense of her is running out.

“Annie, I know what he is. I’ve known for months. Just please tell me what’s happened to him. I want to help,” I plea, holding her shoulder a little harder than I should. But I’m desperate and I think she’s my only hope of gaining some knowledge before I go and actually speak to him.

“Everyone knows what he is, Marco. That’s the problem. Do you think people are actually comfortable with living in the same place as something like him? People talk. He hears them. It plays with his head,” she says sharply and hushed. As Reiner and Bertholdt get too close, she shoots them a glare that death would have been proud of and they back away slowly, wary not to provoke the titan living within her. “Do you even _know_ what he’s done? Do you _anything_ about his past?”

I shake my head. I’ve known Levi since before I can even remember. He’s been there for me from the beginning and I never even thought of asking about where he came from or if he even has a family. That was partly because he scared me to tears on a regular basis, and partly because I never felt the need to. In my eyes, Levi is family, and I selfishly believed that he had nothing before he came to work for my father. I know it’s ignorant, but when you’ve known someone for that long, you don’t think about what they had before you. I certainly never thought about my parent’s lives before I was born, or asked them. I suppose it’s just our selfish human nature.

“Maybe you should ask him, then,” she sighs as she begins to turn away from me.

Before she slips away, I catch her arm again. “He wouldn’t tell me something like that.”

“Maybe he would. Who knows?” She shrugs slightly, allowing her eyebrow to quirk just for a moment. That single arch tells me all I need to know without her saying a single word and destroying her reputation.

_Maybe he would._

“Thank you,” I rush as I turn away from the three of them, running as fast as I can back to the castle.

I know where Levi is. Now all I need to do is talk to him.

It sounds simple enough.

 

* * *

 

Levi’s room lies in one of the tallest turrets of Erwin’s castle, as far away from human society as possible. If I ever thought that the trek to my room was bad enough, his is worse. That’s probably why no one ever goes up there. But I have the feeling that’s what Levi intended when he got to choose rooms. Of course, it happens to be in the turret directly opposite mine, too. I suppose it’s no wonder he knew about Jean and me; he probably saw me sneaking out.

But I’m pretty sure this climb will be the death of me. I’ve been clambering up these steps for goodness knows how long, and I’m certain that I won’t make it to the top. The further I crawl up the spiral staircase, the colder and wearier I become. I have no idea how Levi even survives… Oh wait. He’s dead. I keep forgetting about that.

Come to think of it, that’s a terrifying thought. Levi’s _dead_ and could have been for _years_. I don’t even know how old he is, or how he even died. I really don’t know anything about him.

Realising this only spurs my motivation more, and I keep climbing. I’m pretty sure that I’ve become a pool of mush by the time I’ve reached the final step and I feel as if my legs have turned to air. I can barely stand up to reach for the door.

By some miracle, I manage to get up with only a small amount of wobbling and giddiness and knock clumsily.

I don’t expect an answer, or even some form of reply. But much to my astonishment, I receive a very snappy and grouchy, “What?”

Shocked that he’s even in there, let alone talking, I regain myself for a moment and actually think about what exactly I’m going to say to him. I can’t barge into his room and demand to know about his past, so I need to do this carefully. I should probably start with the present and work my way backwards. That seems like the least-likely way of getting Levi in an even worse—

“What do you want?” he snaps, clearly becoming impatient with my silence. “Petra, is that you?”

“N-no. It’s Marco,” I stammer, leaning against the threshold before I topple over.

For a while, all goes silent and I hear nothing. No reply and no sounds of movement come from his room and I stand there looking like an idiot and probably about to faint. But then Levi slams the door open, making me jump as I spy the red smear across his cheek and his gaunt figure, cloaked by an oversized undershirt.

“What do you want?” he frowns.

“I want to talk to you.”

His expression changes instantly. For a brief moment, all I see is panic, but then frustration takes over and he bears a pair of pointed fangs at me. “Leave,” he demands, gripping the doorway until his knuckles turn white and glaring at me with dark eyes.

“I can’t.” Trying not to look at his exposed jaws, I stay in my place, unmoving and sturdy. Although I’m terrified, I can’t let him know that or I won’t get what I’ve come here for.

“Why not?” he growls. Scowling harder, he grits his teeth and leans in a little closer, hoping to intimidate me. As he gets closer, I realise that the smear on his cheek is in fact blood and he’s also got it dripping off his teeth.

“Because I climbed all the way up here to talk to you and I think I’m about to faint—“ He rolls his eyes at me, running his tongue over his teeth and cleaning up the red splatters left there. “—So please don’t send me back down just yet because I don’t really fancy dying on the way.”

The look Levi gives me is probably one of the strangest I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or push me down the stairs himself.

Whilst Levi gets over his conflicted emotions, I peer behind him for a moment and look into his room. A smashed bottle lies on the floor in pieces, scattering a familiar red liquid over the floor. There’s blood everywhere. It’s on his sheets, on the mirror, on the floor… _everywhere_. I wouldn’t be surprised if a massacre had happened in there. I also notice Levi’s blood stained tunic on the floor. He must have attempted to clear the mess up.

My eyes widen at the sight of the red room and Levi soon notices my realisation. Before I can speak or even move, he pulls me through the door and forces it closed with such a force that I can feel the floor vibrate. It’s only then that I see the true extent of what’s happened in here.

There’s more than one broken bottle in the room. As I shift, the sound of broken glass cracks underneath my feet and I lift my boot up to look at the dyed, shimmering shards of crimson sticking to my sole. The curtains are drawn, but their use of keeping out the sunlight has been spent. The material’s been shredded into mere ribbons by what looks like the talons of a huge beast in a blind rage. The bed hasn’t been slept in, but the marks of red dashed over the pure white imply the presence of something gigantic and ravenous in this very room, just in a slightly smaller and grumpier form.

“What happened in here?” I breathe. Rushing over to the bed, cringing over glass as I go, I pick up a thrashed pillow and watch as the remaining feathers tumble out. The case goes limp in my hold and I turn my gaze to whom I believe to be the perpetrator responsible for this chaos.

Levi ignores my question and keeps his eyes off me, crouching down to pick up his tunic and the shards of glass on the floor. He’ll be down there for days if he actually attempts to clean this all by himself. I drop the pillowcase on the mattress and bend down to help him. He stays silent.

“Levi, what happened?” My words come out as more of a plea rather than a question. Yet even with the desperation in my voice, he still ignores me and continues dropping the tiny remains of glass into his palm. For now, I decide to give up.

All goes quiet as we attempt the impossible task of clearing the floor. By the looks of things, and I’m only guessing, there were five blood-filled bottles in total that were destroyed by whatever form took over Levi’s body. Other than that, I can’t guess anything else. Levi’s impossible to read and I know nothing.

A fragment of glass drags across my skin as it slips through my fingertips, making me hiss as I watch a drop of red form over the tiny slit.

Levi’s head perks up immediately and he stares at me with bloodshot eyes and exposed fangs, panicked. Shaken breath heavily leaves his lungs, escalating by the second and his eyes become locked on me— no, on my blood.

I know I should move, run, anything to get me out of here, but I don’t. His eyes have some kind of hold on me that makes it impossible to move. This mixed with my curiosity and downright stupidity only make my feet stick to the floor as he slowly approaches me.

When I feel an icy breath against my skin, my heart misses a beat, preparing itself to stop altogether and I wait silently, with my eyes screwed shut as the person I thought I knew…

…slaps the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“Why didn’t you run, you idiot?” he snaps.

Bewildered and relieved to be alive, I open my eyes to find Levi staring back at me with the blank expression I’m used to, not the panicked glance he’s been giving me for the last few weeks. In a way, it’s calming.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” I frown.

Sighing, he gets up, treading carelessly over the glass as he walks to the shredded curtains. For a moment, he stares at them, unmoving and utterly silent. Then, in one swift tug he pulls them down, letting a full blow of sunlight flood into the room. As the light reaches my eyes, I wince and shuffle away slowly.

Levi’s full silhouette soon blocks the rays as he stands in front of it, staring down at me with his arms folded and his eyes burning. “You should have run!” he bellows, stamping a foot forwards. “Why didn’t you run?!”

In all honesty, I have no idea. I had no reason to stay where I was except pure curiosity. But then, maybe I knew that he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have… would he?

“You wouldn’t have done it,” I murmur as I lean back on my hands for support.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t have killed me.”

He scoffs. “And how do you know that?”

Slowly, I lift my head to face him properly. He’s still standing over me like a parent scolding their child, but he’s speaking like the Levi I know, so I don’t understand why I’m so afraid.

“Because I trust you.”

The burning glare he’s giving me slowly melts away right before my very eyes. Gritted teeth and thin lips turn to a slack jaw and red, blazing eyes blow out as his hands fall to his sides. No utterings leave his lips, only shattered sounds that are no longer readable as coherent words.

I think I’ve broken him.

 

* * *

 

We finish cleaning the room in silence, him working a little faster than me in hopes to take his mind off things and me slowly pacing myself, still not quite comfortable in my surroundings. We didn’t say anything else to each other after what I told him earlier. We just cleaned. We couldn’t think of anything and there wasn’t anything to say in the first place.

Once we’re done, I sit myself on the very edge of the bed and watch as Levi dumps the remaining pieces of glass on the empty desk opposite me. The shards clink and disperse the moment they touch the hard surface, then Levi turns to me with bleeding hands.

As much as I want to go and help him, I think this isn’t the time to be offering assistance to a vampire. I’m not quite sure where I stand with him at the moment and as a however-old-he-is man, I think he can take care of a few cuts.

Completely ignoring the tiny gashes on his palms, Levi leans against the desk and folds his arms over his chest, sighing as he looks me up and down. I feel like I’m about to be lectured by my father.

“So why _are_ you here?” he asks. “Because I don’t think you came here to help me clean.”

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” I mumble, clasping my hands together and keeping my head down.

“What do you mean?” Footsteps approach slowly, his curiosity finally coming out.

“I don’t really know where to begin. There’s so much that I want to ask you, that it’s impossible to know where to start.”

He sits beside me, but still a fair distance away. I look to my side slowly to see him staring off into the distance, looking a little worried but not in the way he’s been for the last few weeks. There’s a new found calmness about him, and I think I like it this way.

“Try.”

I decide to start basic. If I ask him the easy questions first, then I can slowly ease him into the ones that he may be reluctant to ask. I’ve tried this on Jean plenty of times before and it’s worked. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work with Levi.

“How old are you?”

He scoffs, frowning a little in disappointment. “ _That’s_ why you came here? To ask me that?”

I nod. “And a few other things.”

“Why?” he asks. The long monotonous nature to his voice starts to return the more he speaks. It’s as if I’m distracting him for long enough for him to forget what’s been bothering him this whole time.

I shrug. “I’m interested.”

Sitting up straighter, he takes a deep breath and tightens his lips in concentration. Maybe he doesn’t actually _know_ how old he is.

“Three hundred and thirty seven?” he mutters to himself. “No, three hundred and thirty eight?” Random numbers begin to leave his lips as he tries to figure out how old he is. But he’s definitely over three hundred years old, and that’s bloody terrifying. How many lifetimes does that even contain? Six hundred, give or take a few?

“How old were you when you died?” I ask, hoping to help in some way.

“I don’t remember.” He shakes his head, dismissing everything and all the numbers floating in the air. “But I’m about three hundred and thirty-something.”

“You look very good for your age,” I smile. I just want to put him in a good mood for the next question I want to ask.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” For the first time in the nineteen years that I’ve known Levi, I see the very corner of his lips quirk upwards a little. It’s the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen. But it fades just as quickly as it appeared.

At least he seems to be in a better mood now.

“Levi,” I begin, holding my breath back in preparation for his reaction. This could go either way.

He turns towards me, hunching his shoulders slightly as he notices the strain in my voice.

“How did you die?”

He turns away the moment those words leave my lips.

Sinking back into the mattress, he runs a now trembling hand through his hair and lets it fall limply back into its place. His other hand grips the wooden bedframe like his life depends on it and I’m worried that he’ll have another meltdown. Yet his eyes stay neutral, unlike last time when they blew out and became stained with black.

“Levi?” I ask timidly, reaching out my hand for him.

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “It’s just bad memories.”

After a lot of deep breathing and no demands for me to leave, he gets up and slams open the window. Heavy breath leaves his lungs and is replaced with sharp, icy air from outside. This seems to calm him down as he tenses his entire body for a moment, forcing whatever negative feeling he has out and allowing the cool air to harden his heart. He then sits on the windowsill, facing me, his usual blank expression back in its place and his body calm.

And then he speaks. “You know, Marco, I never used to be the way I am now.”

“What do you mean?”

His brows furrow as he leans forward. “Well, I’m a little on the harsh side and I understand that I can be cruel at times—“ That would be the understatement of the century “— but I’ve seen so much bullshit in this life that I feel as if I _have_ to be like that.”

“But, _why_?” My voice comes out as more of a plea than a question, but he takes it in anyway.

“The more you harden your heart, the harder it is to feel pain,” he says plainly, shrugging his shoulders solemnly.

I can’t believe I’m even getting anywhere with him. I came here convinced that I’d be thrown out within a mere matter of moments after asking all these questions, but he’s _talking_ to me about this. I had no idea that he _knew_ that he wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with, and now I’m going to find out why.

“When was the last time you felt pain?”

“When I died.”

“What happened?”

Deciding that the floor is probably a better place to look than my face, he takes some more deep breaths and slowly allows himself to come to his senses.

“Some vampires came into my home and killed my family,” he says coldly, forcing it all out now whilst his heart is still cooling from the air. “Six of them stormed in during the night and dragged the three of us downstairs. My wife and son watched as one of them bit me, and then held me down as I turned into one of them. Whilst their poison was infecting my blood, they held me down so I could take in the sight of my wife and ten year old son being ripped to shreds and eaten.” Bitterness sucks at the corners of his lips like a leech with each word that leaves them. By the time he’s finished, his knuckles are white from having clenched them too hard and his lips are red raw.

“I-I’m sorry,” I offer weakly. It’s the only response I feel that I can give him, knowing that there’s nothing I can do.

He’s had to live with that for over three hundred years. The very sight of your own flesh and blood being slaughtered right in front of you and there’s nothing you can do. I don’t blame him for being the way he is after seeing that.

Shrugging lamely, he sighs, relaxing back into the support of the windowsill and hanging his head back. Ignoring my pathetic sympathy, he continues to speak. “I was forced to go with them and live as one of their fighters. They’d seen me whilst I fought in the war and decided that I’d be useful to them. They said that if I didn’t help them, they’d kill me.”

“Why didn’t you let them?”

His head snaps back into its usual place and a sharp, jagged frown now graces his expression. “What would you have done in that situation, Marco? What if Jean was killed right in front of you? What would he have wanted you to do?” he hisses.

“… Live.”

“Exactly.”

The frown slowly fades as he takes in a few more deep breaths. I should probably just let him speak and not say anything. He’s fragile at the moment, anyway. I wouldn’t want to trigger anything by saying something I shouldn’t.

“So I stayed with the Caedem. I killed people. But it was so different to what I did in the army. Then, I killed because I had to. Whilst I was with them, I killed to survive. I got blood-drunk and I did what I do best: slaughter. And I even enjoyed it while it lasted. But when they started preying on children…” He stops himself from going any further. I can see the horror in his eyes, there’s no need for him to explain it to me. After watching his son die, I can imagine what that did to him.

Despite the crazed look in his eyes, he continues. “I told the leader, Mike, that I couldn’t harm children. Not after going through the torture of losing Favian, and I’d realised that I’d completely lost my way. It was then that I set out to look for a more peaceful life, soon finding that there were alternatives to drinking the blood of humans to survive. Eventually, the sights that I’d seen during my time with the Caedem had gotten too much and I’d had enough. Others felt the same, but were too cowardly to come forward. Of course, this pissed Mike off. You know the rest.” He jabs his thumb towards his back, reminding me of the time when he told me about his scars.

“No, Levi. I don’t know the rest,” I mumble. “I still don’t know how you ended up looking after me, or what even happened that day when you found me at Jean’s, or why this room looked as if a massacre had taken place. I don’t know _anything_. Believe me, I trust you, but I’m so worried about you that I don’t know if you’re stable enough to—“

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I’m _fine_ , Marco. Everything’s fine.” He begins pacing around the room, gnawing at his bottom lip. The faster he paces, the quicker his breathing becomes and the more his fangs begin to show again. He hisses as he slices his lips open on his jaws and a single drop of crimson drips down his chin. Hurriedly, he wipes it away on his sleeve, fantasising that nothing’s wrong and continues pacing.

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Because there are some things that you shouldn’t know.”

That comment makes my blood boil. If he’s the one whose job it is to protect me, then why can’t I know how _he_ of all things was even given that employment? It’s obvious that everyone knows what he is, yet I can’t understand why my father would allow a mentally unstable _vampire_ to look after me, even though he could have killed me at any moment he wanted. If he’s had breakdowns like the one he had the other week before, then how has my father even allowed me to stay in his care? I’m glad he has, but I just don’t understand.

Irritation and frustration turn to anger, and it fuels my adrenaline. I stand from the bed and storm towards Levi. He stays in his place whilst I tower over him, glaring at me with cool eyes that stab through my flames. I can’t falter here. “Why? Are you scared that I’ll think of you any differently if you tell me? Are you scared of what you are? Will you change into one of those beasts if you tell me? How come everyone knew what you are, except me? _What happened, Levi_?!” I shout, leaving myself breathless and weak. I hang my head forwards as his glare doesn’t melt like I hoped it would and await the wrath I’m about to receive.

“I saw a vampire in the forest. Their name is Nanaba and they work closely with Mike.” That wasn’t the response I expected. “Seeing them brought back too many bad memories for me to handle and I panicked. When we got back to the castle, I transformed into something that I haven’t become for over fifty years. So under Erwin’s orders, I’ve been told to have minimal contact with anyone until I’m deemed stable again.”

Slowly, I lift my head to be faced with his staring down at the floor. After all this time that I’ve been yearning for an answer to all my questions, I never knew that this is how it would end. He looks _ashamed_ of what he’s done and the torture in his voice cripples me from the inside.

“I nearly killed Reiner. If Bertholdt hadn’t stepped in the way, I would have ripped him in half,” he murmurs, keeping his head low. “That’s why I’ve stayed in here. I don’t want to cause anyone harm, so I’ve stayed and tried to get everything out of my system. All the anger, hatred and pressure I’ve been holding in for so long just rushed out.”

“I’m sorry, Levi. I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“But now that I do, you’ll come back, right?”

Levi huffs, shaking his head a little, but stays silent.

“ _Right_?” I repeat out of desperation.

He can’t _leave_ , can he? He can’t go. We _all_ need him here, not just me, but Petra too, and Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt. Who will they learn from if Levi goes?

“Levi, you’re not leaving, are you?”

Placing his hands on my shoulders, Levi looks up at me with a sincere gaze in his eyes. He grips me a little tighter and one side of his mouth turns upwards into some form of forced half-smile. I should be shocked, but the hollowness and sorrow it contains makes it all the worse. “Marco, when your father employed me, I swore that I would protect you from all the things I’ve seen. I haven’t broken that promise to this day and I don’t intend to.”

Now that he’s speaking in riddles again, I realise that I’ve gotten out of him as much as I can, even though I still have unanswered questions. Although I know this, I stay with him a little longer anyway. He may be back, but he may not be staying. And if these are my last few days with him, I want to make the most of them.

 

* * *

 

December’s celebrations don’t leave behind the sense of satisfaction or enjoyment they usually do. If anything, they leave behind a certain sense of unease and dread in the air that’s difficult to avoid. We can all feel it. We just don’t know why.

Although everything seems as if it’s back to normal, now that Levi’s not shutting himself away from everyone and Petra’s acting like her usual self, there’s a strange falseness that clings to everything I see in this place that makes me want to scream. I’m beginning to believe that my real life belongs with Jean and that this is all but an illusion.

Of course, Jean tells me that I’m being ridiculous. But I can’t ignore the slight shake in his voice whenever he speaks of matters that lie within the stone walls of this prison, or the way his shoulders tense when I speak of my future. I feel as if I am slowly becoming isolated from everyone around me day by day, and there’s nothing I can do to help it.

There’s something that someone isn’t telling me and I’m terrified to know what. It’s a feeling that’s been gnawing away at my insides for months, but I’ve always ignored it. I’ve always been too naïve, thinking that those I trust the most would keep something from me. But the longer I stay away from the castle and the life I’m supposed to lead, the more I mature and learn that maybe this world and those in it aren’t as pure as they seem.

It’s not that they’re not telling me the truth; it’s just that I feel as if something’s been left out. Something important. Something that they don’t want me to know. Something that could possibly even harm me. It would explain why it seems as if everyone around me is on edge.

But even though there are things out there that _will_ harm me, and I know that I will eventually fall, it’s how I’ll heal myself that will define me. I just hope that one day they’ll see that.

 

* * *

 

_Only the sound of a burning flicker of a flame fills the shop, accompanied by the barely noticeable breathing coming from the body I’m wrapped around._

_We’ve been lying like this for a while now, me clinging to him whilst he shivers every now and then from the ever-growing cold drafting in through the cracks in the walls, and watching the kindle wood slowly burn to dust. I haven’t let go of him once since I got here and saw him frozen under several blankets in the main shop. He hasn’t talked much since. I’ve only managed to get a few grunts out of him. But I haven’t exactly been here long._

_Jean shifts somewhat, cowering into my body heat a little more until I become a cocoon around him. Tugging on my arm, he pulls it further around his waist and interlaces our fingers together. His thumb strokes my skin softly as we lie there in comfortable silence, happy to just be in the company of one another and not worry about what looms over the horizon._

_We’re tired and we haven’t been able to spend much time together just doing nothing. But it’s days like these that are my safety now. When we are like this, I don’t have a single care in the world except him. Everything that’s been bothering me recently seems to dwindle away when we’re wrapped around one another like this. He’s my shelter from the storm and the sunlight after the rain._

_Still making sure my arms are wrapped tightly around him, he turns to face me. His face is now crawling with shadows as he’s no longer exposed to the light of the fire and I only see the small embers dancing in his eyes._

_“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling him in closer. “Are you still cold?”_

_He shakes his head as a more earnest tone takes over his features. His eyes become hooded as he looks away from me, yet he keeps me close enough to feel his heart knock against his ribs like hail against a window pane._

_Despite the fire raging in front of us, a chill runs down my spine as Jean bites his lip fretfully._

_“Jean, what’s wrong?”_

_“I’m leaving,” he says lowly._

_“What?” I splutter before his lips move again, pulling away from him slightly._

_Feeling the sudden distance between us, Jean draws me back into him and holds me there whilst my breath becomes shallow and my eyes search the darkened room for an answer. “W-why? Where will you—? Why didn’t you—“_

_He breaks my words and stutters with a rushed kiss, rolling us both over until he lands on top of me and my back aches under his weight._

_“Let me finish, idiot,” he laughs whimsically. The moment I see his smile, the worry melts away a little. But that still doesn’t stop the gnawing feeling. “I want you to come with me.” His eyes light up as he tells me his request, burning brighter than the fire as he awaits my reaction._

_“What?” seems to be the only word I can manage._

_“Come with me to Stohess,” he grins, a hint of madness creeping through his teeth. “Marco, we can spend the rest of our lives together. We can forget all of this. The shadows, the disease, the magic—“_

_“Why would you want to forget about all of that?” I frown, sitting up as he rolls off me and lands with an ‘oof’. “Jean, you know we have to stay here.”_

_He grins up at me and laughs._

_Uncertain on what I’m seeing, I look away from him as his laughter dies down._

_Something’s wrong._

_Fingertips trace over my skin as light as a feather, and a false, familiar voice coos in my ear. “But think about it, Marco. We could leave this place, just the two of us. We could do nothing all day and make love all night. We would never have to worry about being caught or encountering beings that we shouldn’t.”_

_“But it’s those beings that we’re meant to be stopping, Jean,” I say frankly. “We can’t leave.”_

_Although I’m not looking at him, I can feel the venom coursing through his veins as all goes quiet and the fire dies right on queue._

_The scenario may be different, but this is still the shadows trying to taint my dreams again._

_At least they’re being a little more original._

_A sharp hand grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me backwards, slamming me to the floor and holding me there with the strength of all that’s been weighing on me these last few weeks. I can’t move._

_His face has turned white like a sky in December, cracked and outlined in black and his eyes have become the shade of black that I‘m all too familiar with. I should be used to this by now, but watching the way his veins turn from blue to black is a new sight I haven’t seen before… at least not on him._

_The last time I saw skin like this was when we treated the girl who’d been bitten by a vampire._

_“Leave this place. Forget all of this. Let them die. They’re going to die anyway,” he sneers, displaying my greatest dread. Fangs._

_“Then I shall die as one of them.”_

_The venom reaches his neck, slowly crawling through his bloodstream until it crinkles around his eyes and drips from his mouth. He hisses, scattering the poison all over me and raises a clawed hand above his head. “Y’know what they say about dreams, Marco?” he grins menacingly. “They say that if you die in your dreams, you die in the real world too.”_

_Screaming, he swipes his hand down as I struggle for my life. When he plunges his talons into my chest, I shriek, calling out **my** Jean’s name as this undead rendition of him mocks my every word, laughing, mocking, twisting._

_“Jean!”_

 

* * *

 

“Marco!”

My eyes blurt open as darkness consumes my sight even more. The burning touch on my cheek stings like the venom that was spewed onto my skin and I slap it away, kicking at the bonds around my ankles.

“Marco! What are you doing? It’s _me_!”

Hands grab my wrists and restrain them as I feel a weight fall on top of me. The feeling’s too comforting to fight against, but I can’t see a thing. I stay rigid as rough leather grazes over my wrists, stroking my skin softly and whispering comforts in my ears.

“Breathe, love. It’s me,” he whispers. “Just open your eyes. It was just a dream.”

I do as he says, gathering the fragments of the dream I just had, piecing it together.

As I hoped, I see Jean above me, clad in thick, black leather and a hood shadowing over his features.

“Show me your teeth,” I exhale, still trying to gain my breath.

“What?” he frowns.

“Show me your teeth and let go of me.”

Thoughts faltering, I allow my worries to get the better of me. As he lets me go, I reach under my pillow and grab the knife lying there, pulling it out and holding it to his throat. He jumps away from me the moment he sees the metal shine in the moonlight.

My breath becomes ragged and I sit up, watching him back away from my bed like a hawk, not taking my eyes off him once. The knife in my hand shakes as he raises his hands in surrender, a sense of panic rising through him.

Slowly, he takes down his hood so I can see him fully. “Marco, you’re still dreaming. It’s me, I promise.”

“How should I know?”

“Marco, please,” he begs, taking a step forwards. Jolting out of bed, I stand tall over him, staying tense as the knife continues to quiver in my hold. He doesn’t take another step. “You won’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

One step. My grip tightens.

“You love me.”

Two steps. My feet become rooted to the ground.

“How do I know if you’re you?”

Three steps. My heart starts pounding.

“I think you know that already.”

By four steps he’s a mere fraction away from me, avoiding the point of the knife completely and I haven’t even bothered to move it. Placing a hand on my cheek, he removes the weapon from my hold and throws it to the floor.

The sincerity in his eyes as he looks at me makes my insides turn. It’s him. And I feel like an idiot.

But he takes no notice of it. The moment he hears the clatter of metal on the floor, he smiles solemnly and lets his hand fall to his side. And then he carries on as if that never happened.

“You’re not here to bring me out of my dreams, are you,” I sigh, holding my head in my hands.

“No,” he says. “I need your help.”

All goes quiet as the panic within him begins to rise again. It’s only then that I see moonlight reflecting out of a bag that’s been dumped next to the window. I look at Jean a little closer, hoping that my eyes have gotten used to the darkness around us.

“Jean, why are you wearing your armour?”

Burning eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair. “There’s something we need to do.”

“What is it?”

Licking his lips, he begins glancing around the room shakily. He turns away from me and approaches the bag. Crouching down, he pulls out three of my daggers, holding them in front of his face like a fan. “Vampires.”

 

* * *

 

Once I’m dressed, Jean hands me my bow and arrows and I strap them to my back hastily. The armour feels like dragon scales against my skin, yet it’s light as a feather and I can actually move in it. I’m really impressed with Ymir’s work.

But this isn’t the time to be admiring masterpieces, as Jean’s reminded me several times tonight. Six vampires are crawling through Trost and are on their way here. It’s just our job to intercept them before they even make it past the city centre.

Pulling up my hood is the final preparation before we leave. It’s nerve-wracking. I’ve never killed anything before, but I’m about to come face-to-face with six vampires who won’t show me any mercy. We could die tonight.

Realising this, I pull Jean into me and kiss him desperately, not wanting to let him go or even leave the comfort of my bedroom. But I know that if I don’t, they’ll come for me anyway.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him and he smiles back at me, despite the situation we’re in. “What was that for?” he asks.

“Just in case this doesn’t end well.”

Huffing, he pecks my cheek almost too innocently for the likings of him. “We’ll make it. I trust us.”

With my lover right behind me and a back laden with silver, we escape the castle without making a single sound. I can feel the two of us melding with the shadows as we run, heading towards the looming buildings of the city.

I trust us, too.

 

* * *

 

There’s no light to be seen. Each corner we turn becomes a dead end of darkness and we can barely keep a hold on one another as we sprint through the dingy alleyways and dismal streets, in hopes of possibly hearing or seeing a vampire. Neither of us really thought this through, but it’s all we can do. All we know is that they’re coming.

“How do you know they’re here?” I’d asked as we were crawling through the hole in the wall.

“I saw six of them coming out of the forest. I don’t know if there are more, but I ran out as soon as I spotted them,” he’d grumbled as he heaved me up.

When I questioned as to why he was awake in the first place, he said that he couldn’t sleep. I’m guessing that he had the same dream as me.

But this really is it now. I’m going to have to kill someone. I’ve killed a vampire before, but she was only a child and that was fuelled by anger. This is different. Going by what Levi’s told me, the Caedem are skilled fighters who are hundreds of years old and their leader, Mike, has a reputation for being utterly merciless. Also, this is for survival.

_They don’t want Jean, they want you_.

There are only three possible outcomes: either we die, the vampires take me, or we win. But the terror that could be looming around every corner makes that last option seem almost impossible.

We could _die_ tonight and it’s all my fault. I don’t even know why they want me.

Jean slows down as we approach another corner, leading into a main road. Footsteps and murmurs echo around the bend and he pulls me back, bracing the two of us against the wall as we listen cautiously.

The more we listen, the more the murmurs sound like muffled cries.

“Shut him up,” a coarse voice snaps. A growl follows and heavy footsteps begin moving, dragging out gruff breaths as the cries become louder, then slowly fade into silence.

Jean turns to me with blown out eyes, his chest heaving as he clenches the hilt of his sword in his trembling hand. I hold my finger to my lips, attempting to be the calmer of the two of us and hold him close. He nods against my shoulder as he quivers in my arms and I squeeze him tightly. Letting him go, I take a step closer to the corner and peer out of our hiding place.

Six vampires stand in the street, only two of them in their human form. The other four tower over them, hunchbacked with dishevelled, straggly black hair and sickly white skin. They’re exactly like the pictures in the book Jean showed me all those months ago. And now I’m seeing them in person. Their white jaws are the size of daggers, hanging from the great chasm of their mouths and their eyes are darker than the night itself. The two that are in human form, though, look much less terrifying. But looks can be misleading.

“How much further?” the shortest vampire asks. “We’ve been walking all night and the boy’s becoming restless. Someone will hear us.”

The taller one grins slyly, exposing his fangs for the shadows to see. “Not far. And if the boy makes another sound, we’ll just have to kill him.”

“But we need him.”

“Not necessarily. He just makes it more exciting.”

I can feel Jean’s shaken breath on the back of my neck. He can see everything.

Now knowing that the vampires have taken a hostage, this makes the situation much more difficult. We’ll have to fight these things whilst making sure their prisoner doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.

I carefully prepare my bow, taking out a single silver-tipped arrow and placing it cautiously in its position. Drawing back the string, I aim it at the taller of the two in human form. He seems to be the one in charge. But my arm’s shaking more by the second and if I miss, we’re done for.

Jean snakes his arm over mine and steadies me, keeping his other hand on my waist as he watches intently. But then the vampire speaks.

“Nile,” he says. He gains the attention of one of the four in their original form. “Scout the area and kill anyone who stands in your way.”

With a sharp nod, the vampire bears its teeth and turns away, heading in the opposite direction. Jean and I stay utterly still for a moment. It would be stupid to do anything now.

But as the vampire moves, we see something much worse. A body cowering against the wall, bound, bruised and beaten.

Jean inhales a sharp breath as he sees the hostage’s face and my heart forms a lump in my throat as dizziness begins to take over.

There’s no mistaking it. The tanned skin, mussed chocolate hair and green eyes are too familiar to not recognise. And he’s shaking like a leaf in the midst of his captors, too terrified to clean the blood dripping down his cheek.

This is our worst nightmare.

It’s Eren. They have Eren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: "Moths fly towards the light in hopes there's a darkness on the other side."
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	11. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a sort of early update! Wahoo!  
> Thank you so much for all the positive feedback on the last chapter, by the way! It made me very happy to see you all so concerned with Eren and I have screenshotted all the nice comments and messages I got because I'm a big nerd and I get happy very easily. But I must warn you, it doesn't get much better for Eren in this chapter, I'm afraid.  
> I'd like to say a big thank you to [kaneki-amore](http://kaneki-amore.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/108716128684/kaneki-amore-huehuehue-drew-a-vamp-levi-from) lovely sketch of Levi and [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/108830584264/kaneki-amore-i-was-thinking-about-a-scene-from) absolutely hilarious 'Mean Girls' reference inspired by a scene from the previous chapter. Go check it out, I've been snorting about it for days!  
> Also, I'd love to say thank you to [ladysyrupp](http://ladysyrupp.tumblr.com/) for [these](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/109324479044/ladysyrupp-doodles-inspired-in-the-perfect) absolutely amazing sketches of Marco, Ymir and Christa! Thank you!  
> And if any of you were wandering what kind of music I listen to whilst I write, I actually made a playlist of it all that you can listen to [here](http://8tracks.com/livsws/i-d-follow-you-to-the-ends-of-the-earth).
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: blood, violence, gore, lots of people having breakdowns and a fuckload of crying.  
> Enjoy (or not, either way's cool)!

People have always said to me that you can’t hold someone against their actions. It’s not right to think a person will always be bad because of one thing they did, so you have to forgive and forget.

But looking at Eren in the state he’s in at the moment makes me question that entire statement and come to the conclusion that it’s complete and utter bullshit.

I can’t even stand the sight before me. Knowing that I’m the one who got him into this makes it all the worse. Compared to his captors, I feel so small and useless that I have no idea how I’m going to get him out. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m just waiting for something to spark inside me and explode.

The whimpers and sobs he’s emitting only makes the guilt and regret burning within me worse and I can’t even find the strength within my hollow body to look at him properly, to face what I’ve done.

If I had never told Eren about any of this – if I had never told him anything about Marco, then maybe he wouldn’t be in this state and I wouldn’t be held responsible for fucking up. Maybe I should have let Ymir wipe his memory again when he shifted, and try to find a way to get rid of his powers for good. Maybe then he’d be safe. Maybe then I wouldn’t have broken my promise to Mikasa. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like such a failure.

Every time a vampire takes a single step nearer to him, Eren shrinks further and further into the crevice he’s found in the wall behind him, biting on his bottom lip to keep him from screaming until it’s read and swollen. Blotchy, purple bruises are starting to mark their territory on his skin, decaying the natural glow of it and staining it with fear. His hands are bound in front of him, too tight for him to even feel, and he’s shaking, begging silently for a way out.

So here’s what I can make out of this: we can argue whether or not we are responsible for what we _are_ , but in the end we are certainly responsible for what we _do_. In other words, not all vampires are all that bad, but these fuckers are going to end up with their insides decorating the pavement once I’m finished with them.

But I don’t know how to get Eren out. And by the looks of things, neither does Marco.

Watching in horror as yet another beast begins to torment him, I decide that I’ve had enough of standing here and doing nothing. I press my back against the wall, ignoring Marco’s whispers of concern and clench the hilt of my sword in my hand, screwing my eyes closed.

The smell of rotting flesh hangs heavy in the air as I try to focus on my surroundings.

There are five vampires out there: three in their original form, two in human. The other one’s lurking fuck knows where. That could be a problem. Eren’s on the far side of the street, relatively covered from anything that could possibly lunge out at him in a freak moment. He should be fine if he stays put.

But I just don’t understand why he isn’t shifting.

I need to think of a logical way to do this without harming anyone. There are civilians sleeping in these houses, after all. And I just hope that they’re not curious fucks and decide to come out to see what all the commotion’s about, only to be faced with an enormous vampire.

Despite my attempt to stay calm, my chest begins heaving erratically, breath short and sharp like knife blades and my heart practically choking me to death. If I fuck up, then it’s all over. I have to protect both Marco _and_ Eren and I don’t know how to do that without hurting one of them.

“Don’t touch me!” Eren screams, snapping me out of my thoughts.                                  

That does it.                                                     

Drawing my sword, I walk out of our hiding place, leaving Marco white as a sheet in the shadows, calling out my name in sharp whispers as I walk past him.

I step out of the darkness and into the dingy light of the sky, and vampires all turn to face me the moment they hear my footsteps, each one of them grinning at me with those gleaming, blood-stained daggers they call teeth. Their eyes all light up as I stand there, sword drawn and pointing right at them, visibly shaking. They probably think I’m a joke.

The feeling of their eyes on me makes me sick to my stomach. They’re all empty, black, filled with hatred and death and they’re aiming it all at me. And I am alone.

They’ll devour me whole.

“Jean?! What are you doing here?! Go home!” Eren shouts, raising himself away from his crevice for just a moment too long as he’s met by the icy glare of the monster next to him.

A cold sweat begins beading on my forehead the more they look at me in silence. I don’t even know what I’m doing. This is all just on impulse. I’m no longer proving to others that I can defeat and conquer; I’m proving this to myself.

The vampire directly in front of me, I recognise from all those months ago as Mike, the leader of the Caedem. He looks no different to the last time I saw him, yet the darkness that clings to him with talons and the shadows that mirror his every move make me think that he’s changed a great deal.

He’s smirking at me almost delightfully as he notices my trembling hand and the sweat running down my back. I must seem like nothing to him – just another bug to step on.

“Invite the other one out, won’t you?” he smiles sweetly. “I know there are two of you – I can smell him.”

“Let Eren go,” I growl, ignoring Mike’s request. The longer I can keep Marco out of this, the better.

Mike’s lips twist from a smile into a tight, thin line, staring at me with dark, beady eyes that make me feel as if he’s sucking out my soul. “ _I asked you to invite your friend out_ ,” he says sternly, turning his attention from me to the wall that Marco’s hiding behind. “If _you_ don’t do it, I will. And that could get messy.”

With these words ringing in the air, I don’t even need to say a word as Marco emerges from his hiding place, his bow still drawn back and the tip aiming straight for Mike’s head.

Mike laughs with glee the moment he sees him, ignoring the silver arrow jabbing right at him. “Oh this is just _perfect_!” he cackles, raising his arms in joy as the rest of the clan nod in agreement. “We’ve got _both_ of them!”

Marco’s shallow breath is audible even from the distance he is from me. Although much like me his hands are shaking, his feet are rooted to the floor, securing his aim at the vampire leader’s head. The stony glare he’s aiming at him sends chills down my spine and he looks as if he’ll release the arrow at any moment.

Upon seeing this, Mike laughs even louder, taking both of us for fools as we stand with our weapons drawn. This only fuels both of us more, as does the pleading stare of my best friend, half hidden by the mass of one of his abductors.

“What’re you going to do? Kill me?” Mike leers. “There are two of you and six of us. You’ll be slaughtered.”

Straining, Marco pulls back the bow even further. He’s up to something – I can tell. But the shake in his arm is still present and I’m wary that it’ll affect his aim. Unless… that’s what he wants.

“Let Eren go,” Marco spits, holding his weapon a little closer to his chest for stability. “Just tell us what you want and leave us.”

Nonchalantly, Mike saunters towards him, closer and closer until he’s only a few steps away. I attempt to keep my gaze on them as much as possible, but the looming presence of the other vampires makes it difficult.

Mike huffs. “I think you do know what we want, Your Highness.”

Marco’s eyes widen and the tension in his arms begins to relax. Inhaling a sharp breath, he comes to some sort of realisation. Then with a penitent glance towards me, he drops his bow on the floor.

“Marco?!”

Even Eren attempts to make some kind of movement to display his complete and utter disbelief as Marco takes a step towards Mike. I can see the alarm in his green eyes. He’s coming to the same conclusion as me.

Perhaps Marco hasn’t told me as much as I think.

He ignores me, continuing to stare Mike right in the eyes as he stays in his place. “If you want me, then take me. Just leave Jean and Eren be.”

Forgetting about the others, I point my sword at Mike, glaring at him down the length of silver with as much anger and ferocity as I can manage without striking him down straight away. The moment I move, the rest of the clan begin growling. But I no longer care. There’s no way on earth that I am letting Marco slip through my fingers like sand ever again. I’ve lost him too many times before to bear it.

“Don’t touch him.”

Smiling crookedly, Mike moves his icy glare from Marco to me. “You know, witch, I had orders not to kill you. But since you’re being such a pain, I might have to bend the rules a little.”

His threats fall on deaf ears. Something else has caught my attention. “Orders from whom?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he grins, turning back towards Marco, who’s still standing there, waiting for whatever Mike has planned. “Now… as for you, Your Highness—“

Mike’s coos are cut off by an almighty roar booming from above us. It reverberates through the cool night’s air, making my toes curl at the shriek and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My head snaps upwards at the sound, searching for the source in the ever-growing black. Movement scrambles over the rooftops and out of sight, knocking tiles and scattering talons.

Whatever’s up there doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s distracting Mike, so I take this as my opportunity.

Yelling, I race towards him, gripping my sword tightly, ready to ram the blade right through him and end this once and for all. It’s an exhilarating feeling that courses through my veins like a running river – the closer I get, the more I want to watch him bleed.

When the silver pierces through his chest with ease and a tiny gasp leaves him, an overwhelming sense of relief rains down on me, and it weighs me down like stone as I stare at the metal stabbing out the other side of Mike’s body. The very sight of it makes my entire being feel numb. Marco gasps behind me as blood begins to dribble out of the wound I’ve made in the vampire’s body, staining his clothes and turning them dark red.

And it’s all over so quickly. That’s the end of him. We can get Eren and go.

Mike stares at me with wide eyes as I drag the blade out of his punctured body, letting him sway for a moment before he collapses onto the floor in a motionless heap. The more silent vampires begin to emit growing, rattling snarls as they watch their leader curl in on himself right in front of them, and all because he took his eyes off me for just a moment.

I don’t understand why I didn’t do that in the first place.

But then I look back at the other vampires and I change my mind.

Gnawing their teeth and rumbling lowly, they begin to move towards me with revenge burning in their soulless eyes. The other vampire in their human form changes shape pretty quickly the moment they see their leader fall, shedding their clothes like snake skin as they grow into the miscreation that they truly are. Looking at the four of them, there’s no way to tell them apart except height and how meticulously they’ve all sharpened their fangs.

It’s almost as if they’ve been expecting us.

Using my body as a shield, I stand in front of Marco, keeping him away from them as the vampires grow ever closer, claws at the ready and black tongues toiling from their mouths. I don’t really care if they hurt me; I just don’t want them anywhere near Marco or Eren, who still hasn’t moved from his crevice. It’s as if he’s frozen.

“Grab Eren and get out of here,” I order Marco, slowly moving the two of us backwards, but away from Eren.

“But what about you?”

“I’ll stay.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

“ _Marco_!”

That ear piercing roar bellows through the night again, so loud that I can feel the ground shake. Whatever doesn’t want to be seen obviously wants to be heard and the other vampires come to a halt, staring upwards at the building behind us.

I don’t want to look as a something comes crashing to the ground in the shadows, breathing gruff and heavy against our backs. Whatever has joined us begins to snarl, the sound getting closer as it approaches.

It must be the vampire that went off earlier. I was wondering where he’d gotten to.

Marco’s hand squeezes mine as I cling to my sword and prepare for our fate, the breath behind us growing quick. And then it screeches again.

The crowd in front of us take stance as the screech becomes louder, snarling back with anger seeping from their tongues. This is turning into a screaming match between giants and Marco and I are caught right in the middle of it.

With an almost too careful swipe, the beast behind us pushes us out of the way, casting Marco and me aside. It steps in front of us, careless of our presence and faces the rest of its kind, bearing its teeth and grinning.

It can’t be…

“Levi?” Marco breathes.

The broad silhouette of our shadowy saviour relaxes slightly, turning its head to face us. The moment it sees Marco, its eyes soften a little.

He looks just like the rest of them – a gaunt, hunched figure with eyes like starless skies where all hope seems to dissipate. The scars on his back are still there, seeming read and sore on his pale, stretched skin and they ripple over his bones. Although his true form makes him taller, he has nowhere near as much muscle on him as the other vampires do. He looks as if there’s hardly any life left in him.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Marco exclaims.

Instead of answering, Levi snaps his head back towards his fight just as quickly as he’d let himself go.

The screaming starts again, increasing in volume more and more, piercing through the night’s sky. Levi keeps himself in front of us, using himself as a barrier. He keeps turning his head towards up, snarling at us to leave. But we’re not going anywhere. This is our fight too, so we stay and I keep Marco as close to my chest as I can.

Through the shrieks, a more bone chilling sound arises from the commotion, causing it to die down and dissolve into nothing. The silence exposes none other than Mike’s laughter.

He’s in hysterics, clapping and kicking his feet around as everyone (apart from his followers) stare at him in horror. The very sight of him breathing again makes me sick to my stomach. I only want him dead so I can get this mess over and done with.

As Mike continues to laugh at us, Eren cowers away from the sound, crying into the wall as he sinks into it further. He wraps his arms around his legs and rocks, trying to keep out the repulsive sound. He just wants to go home.

Mike gets himself up off the floor effortlessly, blood still staining his clothes, but visibly unharmed and turns to us with an entertained smile on his face. The wound I’d made earlier isn’t even there anymore. His skin’s completely clear aside from a few blood smears.

I don’t understand. He’s _alive_. But silver’s meant to kill vampires, isn’t it?

Instead of turning his attention to us, Mike aims it at Levi. He seems a little too happy to see him for my liking.

Levi suspends over him like a tower, staring down at him with murder on his mind and years’ worth of revenge and spite to act out on. I can see why he wouldn’t want us involved. But we are now, and I know that Marco won’t leave here without him.

“Did you really think that _silver_ would hurt us, Levi?” Mike sneers up at him. “What did you tell Marco all those months ago?”

He waits for an answer, but doesn’t gain one. Levi just stares guiltily at him, realising the shitstorm we’ve been thrown into.

We’re up against an enemy that we can’t defeat. Our weapons are useless against them. If we even manage to strike them through their massive size and fatal jaws, they’ll rise from the dead again as if they were never even harmed.

“We’re constantly maturing, Levi,” Mike grins. “We’re invincible now. You just missed out on evolution.” Then, as quick as lightning and without warning, Mike removes a silver dagger from his belt and stabs Levi in the arm. The skin where the dagger’s been impaled begins to burn and smoke slowly, charring his blood turning it to dust.

The scream he emits isn’t one of revenge anymore – it’s pure, agonising pain. This only makes Marco’s breath race as he watches his friend burn from the inside out.

Then he lets go of me.

“Levi!” he screams. He runs towards his bow and picks it up, taking an arrow from his quiver and putting it in place. Before I know it, an arrow’s passed through Mike’s head and he’s down on the floor again.

Today really isn’t his lucky day.

Although it’s only a temporary fix, Marco’s given Levi a chance to take the flaming dagger out of his arm and throw it out of arms reach.

The wound punctured into his harm is still burning at his skin, making it blister and boil. But he ignores it, not even bothering to wipe away the blood racing over his skin.

But he has no time, anyway. This time instead of waiting, the other vampires charge, racing towards the three of us, roaring and bellowing. Collision is inevitable, so we prepare our weapons.

It’s four against three plus a fifth lurking in the shadows. I don’t know whether to laugh knowing that it’s very likely that I’m about to die, or just get on with it and temporarily kill them all so we can get Eren and run.

We don’t have much time before Mike gets up again, so I go with the last option: slaughter, no matter how much you bleed.

And then I’m crashing to the ground as a vampire tackles me to the floor, bearing its great jaws at me as it snaps and screams in my face, threatening to rip me limb from limb if I don’t fight back. My legs are pinned to the ground, I soon realise, as I try to kick the thing off me, thrashing underneath its weight like prey. It licks its lips with that poisoned black tongue and mentally swallows me whole and the stinking smell of rot and decay fills my lungs as we share the same air. It’s not even attempting to kill me yet, just admiring the way I squirm underneath its huge mass.

I think it’s given up on the order of not killing me.

Using the hilt of my sword, I smash the vampire on the head with all my strength over and over again as I struggle to break free. Its screams just get louder the more I hit it. And now it’s pissed.

Giving up on keeping me restricted, the vampire stands, bringing me with it by dragging me up by the neck. It squeezes. Its claws puncture my neck. Blood runs down my back as I choke in its grasp, my legs dangling below me and I feel dizzy, like I’m falling from a great height.

With a smirk, the vampire drags its nails across my cheek, taking in the sight of my struggled squirming as its claws bite into my flesh. Then they trail downwards towards my chest and a slow, searing pain surges through me as the vampire begins to mark my chest, deeper and messier than the last one.

I can feel my skin peeling away from my body, the deeper the vampire plunges its talons into me and I can do nothing except cling onto the hand around my neck, pulling it away in an attempt for some relief. But the pain in my neck gets wore instead. No matter what I do, I will always end up with something being lurched further into my body.

The torture it’s putting me through makes me think it best if it just got it over with and kill me.

To my left, Marco’s not doing much better than me, his nose getting bloodier each time he receives a blow from his opponent’s giant fist. He’s running out of arrows fast, but the blood rush to his head is making him lose his aim. And the vampire keeps getting closer.

The hand around my neck tightens as I begin to lose my hearing and the claws sink into me deeper. I no longer have the energy to scream and I drop my sword as my sense of touch begins to fade.

“Jean, fight!” Marco screams. “Just do it! Fight!”

A shriek breaks through my muffled hearing as Levi’s tackles another vampire to the ground, lashing and jerking as it attempts to throw him off whilst he gnashes his teeth at it and throws it about. In one quick, swift turn, Levi’s got the beast on its back and raises its hand to its face, talons dangerously close to its eyes.

At least they’ll live.

“Jean!”

The vampire lets me go like dead weight as crimson spurts from its throat, spraying over my skin before I fall. My head falls backwards as I gaze up into the sky, gasping for breath instead of blood. I choke, letting red spew from my lips and drip down my cheek.

As my sight beings to become clearer, I look at the carcass of the monster next to me. An arrow’s passed through its neck. But when I look back at Marco, I know that I need to get up, no matter how painful the gashes inflicted on my skin are. Marco’s all out of arrows and the vampire’s nearly on him.

He’s worth all of this pain and so much more. I want him to live so badly that I’d shoot sunshine into my veins.

Still choking on my own blood and bile, I grab my sword off the floor and wrangle to stand.

Whilst Levi’s occupied with his own vampire, the one Marco’s up against must be at least twice his height and is swiping at him with its nails, grazing his skin more and more the closer it gets. Blood’s trailing down his clothes and he keeps backing away, unable to reach for his daggers. But he’s getting closer to Eren, who still hasn’t moved. I want to scream at him, tell him to run and just leave us here.

_We’ll be fine._

Marco will be fine. Eren will be fine. Levi will be fine.

I’m not so sure about me.

Yelling, I sprint towards the vampire towering over Marco, waving my sword around like a madman and I leap upwards, landing on its back and wrapping my hands around its neck. Avoiding its teeth, I pull the monster’s head back, exposing its throat.

“Marco, now!” I scream, hoping he understands what I’m ordering him to do.

He gets it, reaching into his quiver to take out a single dagger.

The vampire’s beginning to struggle as it spies the knife in Marco’s hand, trying to snap at me whilst I hold it still. I can’t move if I’m imprisoning it in place like this, so I’ve got to rely on Marco.

He hurtles towards the vampire’s body, slamming into it with such a force that it knocks both it and me backwards. We fall, and I’m instantly crushed under the weight of it. My ribs feel as if they’re slowly being crushed. But I keep my firm grasp on its neck.

Marco appears above me, dagger in hand and a stony expression on his face. No remorse. No emotion. Nothing.

He takes great pleasure in the way the vampire squirms as he drags the blade across its throat, deep and fatal, the blood running out like rivers over its body and my own. And when it stops moving temporarily, he helps me up from under it.

All becomes deathly quiet in the street as Levi finishes off his opponent, slashing its face open with his claws. Its final scream dies down, gore crackling in the back of its throat and Levi looks up at us triumphantly.

But there’s no time to celebrate. We need to get out of here.

“Get Eren,” Marco smiles, “before they all revive themselves.”

As much as I want to kiss the shit out of him, he’s right. Eren’s in a state, curled up in his corner, shaking at the bloodbath we’ve just created. And I’m covered in the evidence.

As I walk towards him, swinging my bloody sword by my side, doors open from either side of the street as curious citizens emerge from their houses. I knew this would happen. We created too much noise to actually avoid this.

Gasps and stares follow me as I walk, covered in the blood of the things on the floor and my own. I just hope they’re all back inside before the vampires get up.

Then a woman sees Levi and screams.

That’s understandable.

Ignoring the commotion behind me as flocks of people gather in the street to inspect the monstrosities, I approach Eren with the upmost caution. He’s staring into nothingness, trembling in his bounds and his eyes widen further when he sees me.

I crouch down in front of him slowly and place my weapon carefully on the ground. He pulls away from me, only to be met by the wall and refrains from eye contact.

Something’s wrong.

“Eren?” I breathe, taking his clasped hands in mine. “Eren, what happened to you?”

He stays silent, keeping his head low but his hands out in front of him. He just wants to go home.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean for this…”

When he doesn’t answer me, I give up on getting words out of him and untie the rope around wrists, leaving behind red sores from where he’s been bound too tight. His skin’s been broken in more places than one and the bruises on his legs lead me to believe that maybe he can’t even stand.

“Can you walk?” I ask, holding out my hand for him.

He shakes his head.

“Is that why you couldn’t shift?”

Nodding, he finally looks up at me with glassy green eyes and leans towards me, staring right through me. Yet I can’t see anything in his, just a never ending abyss of agony and hurt.

I can feel the tears ripping through me the more I look at him. I need to get him out of this damned place.

Softly, he places his hands on my cheeks, holding me level with him and he calmly rests his forehead against mine, still staring into the very depths of me.

“ _Save Marco_.”

“What?”

Before Eren can answer, a scream that I don’t recognise erupts through the silence, followed by the sounds of rushed and many more yells and calls of distress, panicked footsteps and slamming doors.

My pulse starts racing as I fear the worst. The anxiety pierces through my veins like knife blades as the street becomes silent again. I don’t want to turn around.

Cautiously, I take Eren’s hands away from me and glance over my shoulder… But there’s nothing there except Marco and Levi standing in the middle of the street with wide, panicked eyes, looking helpless.

A sudden kick to the face cracks my nose, knocking me off balance and I’m sent flying backwards, the bitter taste of blood corrupting my tongue. My head hits the stone floor and Marco’s immediately by my side, wiping away the blood dripping from my nose and helping me up. He wraps my arm around his neck and hoists me to standing so I can look at the fucker who just struck me.

As my vision clears and my head becomes level again, my worst fears come to light as I look right at Mike and the fifth vampire.

I’d completely forgotten about them.

Mike approaches Eren, who cowers before him and shrivels into a ball as the vampire crouches down and twists his hand in his hair.

“Leave him!” Marco yells. “You’ve made your point; just leave Eren out of this!”

Whilst the other vampire stays put and watches us with hungry eyes, Mike drags Eren’s head away from the wall. He looks at me desperately, sobbing as Mike pulls his hair, making him whimper in pain.

With a malicious smile decorating his lips, Mike smashes Eren’s head against the wall.

“Eren!” I scream, lurching forwards. But Marco holds me back as he spots the other vampire become tense at my sudden movements. The thing suspends over us like and we’re pests that can be easily crushed – even Levi. None of us are a match against it.

Eren’s body becomes limp and frail as consciousness drains out of him and he falls into Mike’s awaiting arms. Not paying any attention to us, he picks up Eren’s body and passes it to his companion. Eren’s entire body wilts aimlessly as he’s passed around like an unwanted object and blood’s coursing down his face, soaking onto the floor as dangles in the air.

He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been through too many throes because of me to have to endure another. This is all my fault. Why can’t they just take me instead?

The beast he’s being carried by places a fatal talon against Eren’s throat. On impulse, I run my fingertips over the slashes on my chest, knowing all too well how easy it would be to slice his throat open right here and now.

Mike stands in front of them, folding his arms proudly at my reaction. Disgusting pig. Just the thought of him makes me want to kill him.

I shift a little as I try to look at Eren properly, but I only manage to get the talon pressed against his neck harder. I feel like I’m choking, gripping Marco’s arm for some kind of relief.

Levi stays still. He knows better than all of us that we’re no match for them. He’s lost all hope, yet he stands there with his teeth gritted, ready for a fight.

I don’t even bother to demand for Eren’s freedom or even pick up my sword. It’s useless against the vampires.

Rustling sounds come from behind us and I wither away inside a little as the rest of the monsters get us casually from their short-lived deaths. I stay grounded as they walk past us like we’re not even there and crowd around Eren, almost obscuring him from my sight.

Marco’s breath begins to shake as Eren starts to disappear behind a wall of miscreation. His captor keeps pressing the claw against him harder and harder until the wound will finally become fatal. More blood begins raining down his neck as the edge is drawn across his skin. It’s not fatal, but it’s enough to amuse Mike and piss me off.

He’s testing me – seeing how far I’ll go before I break. And I won’t stay like this for much longer.

Now that he can see that he’s got me angry enough to provoke me, he turns his attention to Levi and Marco, who’s still clinging onto me, reluctant to let go in case I do something I’ll regret.

“You know, Levi, it’s a shame that you couldn’t be a part of this. Don’t you think you should have taken me up on that offer I made you, since I’m going to take great pleasure in watching you bleed to death?” Mike says as he begins to pace around the street.

Levi shrieks at him, bearing his jagged fangs. It’s the only answer he can provide in this form. But I think he knows what Mike’s doing. He _should_ know – he’s had first hand experience.

Mike snorts. “Yes, of course. How could I forget? You want to protect you precious prince.”

The way he says “prince” with such venom pricks at my insides like needles and I’m getting more aggravated the longer he stays alive.

Marco’s grip on me tightens as my body tenses.

“But have you ever told him _why_ you want to protect him so badly?” Mike sings, waving his arms in the air carelessly as he continues his speech.

Levi stays silent this time.

“Marco, you _must_ know how Levi came to be under your father’s employment, right?”

“I don’t,” he mumbles, holding me close to him in some form of comfort and turning his head away from Levi.

“Would you like me to tell you?” Mike grins, leaning forwards like the patronising shit he is. “It’s quite the story.”

“I don’t want to know.”

That doesn’t do any good.

Despite Levi’s wrathful glare and clenched teeth, Mike starts to spew words tainted with poison, aimed directly at Marco. Although he doesn’t want to hear it, he can’t help his curiosity that burns like fire within him. “Once upon a time,” he begins, “there was a vampire called Levi. He was the best one out there. He was _perfect_. Years before he joined us, he was in the army and fought in many battles, showing no remorse or guilt for all the lives he took. And although his wife hated him for it, he used to fight in the streets at night whilst his special Favian was asleep –“

Levi tenses at the name, balling his fists as he’s forced to listen under his former clan’s mocking glare.

“—So we recruited him. At first he was reluctant to help us in our cause, but soon enough he did as he was asked. He killed when he was told and he _liked it_. It felt like his army days again, didn’t it Levi? You missed all the blood and death. You enjoyed the look on their faces as you devoured them alive—“

Levi begins to protest, growling at his past leader. But Mike continues to hand us his spiel anyway.

“—but then nearly twenty years ago, we encountered a problem with him. Can you think of what that was, Marco?”

He stays silent, scowling at him with a fiery rage, his eyes drilling into him. The grip he has on me leads me to believe that he wants Mike dead even more than I do.

“Your mother became pregnant with you,” the vampire sneers. “And you see, Your Highness, that’s a problem for us because there’s someone out there who wants you dead for… _unknown reasons_ , as it were. Therefore, it was assigned to us to take care of you. So we sent in your good friend Levi to get rid of you.”

“N-no. Th-that can’t be… Levi left the Caedem years before I was…” He goes silent, absorbing Mike’s words and Levi’s ever-growing silence.

His breath becomes erratic as he realises exactly what Mike’s saying and he becomes dizzy for a moment, stumbling over nothing as his thoughts take over. For a moment, he shakes his head, refusing to believe the nonsense coming from Mike’s mouth. But when Levi doesn’t respond and just stays silent, staring at the ground with remorse written all over him, Marco knows it’s true.

“You lied to me,” he breathes, letting my arm drop from his support. His head turns sharply towards Levi with rage scorching in his gut and his eyes burning away the softness in them. “You lied to me!”

Fearfully, Levi wails as he tries to explain himself, but the form he’s in denies him of communication, so Marco keeps screaming at him.

“You told me that you left the Caedem _years_ ago! Why didn’t you tell me the fucking truth?!” Levi turns his head away from him in shame. “Why did you _lie_?! I thought I _trusted_ you, Levi!”

Those words cut through the night air like a knife and I can see the hurt in Levi’s eyes as he says it.

Marco starts to cry as Levi continues to not look at him. “I _trusted_ you!” he screams again, tears streaming over his skin as he chokes on his own words.

“Do you hear that, Levi?” Mike pipes up again. “The boy you swore to protect doesn’t even trust you anymore. Poor, poor Marco. The only person he ever looked up to tried to kill him when he was only a baby.”

Marco can’t hear him anymore; he’s too busy trying to get an answer out of Levi.

“You were sent in to _kill_ me!” he bellows, beating Levi’s arm with as much force as he can. “Why did you _lie_ to me?! I looked up to you! I told you everything! Why didn’t you tell me anything?!” Gasping for air through his weeping, Marco turns to Mike with desperation clinging to his thoughts. “Tell me more.”

“Marco, no,” I intervene. “Levi has done nothing to you. He’s kept his promise to protect you this whole time. Don’t believe a single word of this bullshit!”

“Then why isn’t he saying anything?” he hisses, continuing to hammer into Levi’s arm uselessly, receiving no retaliation or reaction from him. “Tell me! Tell me what happened!”

Mike’s all too happy to carry on. “When we heard that the king was searching for a bodyguard for his new heir, we took it as the perfect opportunity to get inside and get rid of you,” Mike continues, only worsening the situation and confirming all of Marco’s worst fears. He’s done enough. He’s made Marco break and we lost Levi a long time ago. There’s no need for him to do this. “So when Levi got the job and went to kill you that fateful night… something happened, didn’t it Levi? Would you like me to tell your prince what it was?”

I really hope he chokes on all the shit he talks.

Levi’s blankness begins to crack, reliving the moments from that night and I can see it all through his eyes. I can see _him_. He’s breaking, slipping away from this form. As Mike speaks, he loses it completely.

“He reminds you of your son, doesn’t he?”

Levi screams out, but it’s not aimed at Mike, it’s for Marco and it’s _painful_ to listen to. All the hurt and anger that’s been building inside of him for so long ruptures within him and he claws at the long, straggly hair cascading from his twisted head. He cries louder, crouching down onto the floor as he screams, morphing back into his human form and his shrieks becoming human with him. Now in his own skin, Levi shivers bare on the cold, hard ground as he weeps, screams and yells into the night. Pulling at his hair, he gasps as he chokes on his own breath, trembling in the unforgiving breeze. “He looks like my son!” he sobs. “He reminds me of my child! And _you_ took him away from me!”

Marco’s speechless, backing away from him with incoherent sounds coming from his mouth as he tries to piece together the shatters he must call his thoughts. He falls into me as he begins to cry again, staring at the mess that’s become of Levi.  “Did I do this?” he sobs as he presses his cheek against my chest. The sight of the wreck in front of him is making him weak. I can barely hold him upright.

“No. You were cheated. You did nothing.”  But then I remember the manner in which Marco screamed at him with so much malice and hatred. “Go comfort him,” I suggest. It’s a stupid idea, but it’s the best I can do so I can get him out of the way for a moment. “I’ll take care of Mike.”

Dewdrops rolling down his cheeks, he nods and leaves my grip, rushing back over to Levi to at least shield him from the crisp night air. Whilst he tries to ease him, I turn my attention and rage towards Mike and his followers, the cause of all of this destruction.

This is the point where I’ve had enough. Mike’s put all of us through enough and now I’m done with all of this. I’m ending this here and now, even if it kills me.

“What do you want from us?” I hiss, clenching my fists by my sides.

He laughs, looking at his clan amused at my demand. They all grin with him. “I want you to choose,” he jeers.

“What?”

He scoffs, grinning slyly as he unfolds his arms. “Choose, Jean: Eren or Marco? If you let us kill one of them, you can have the other and we’ll leave you alone.”

I look around me in desperation, hoping to catch either Marco or Levi’s eye. But they’re both enveloped in their own concerns and this isn’t down to them. This is my fault, so I’m the one who has to end it. I just don’t know how.

“You can’t make me do that,” I growl through gritted teeth.

“I can,” Mike smiles, “and you’ll choose now or I’ll kill _everyone_ who witnessed these events tonight.”

The other vampires all growl through their teeth, which is what I assume is their fucked up way of laughing.

I can’t do this. There is no way that I can choose between the one I love and my best friend. A choice like that can’t be expected of anyone.

I look at Marco who’s reverted into a mad state, staring panicked at Levi with no idea how to get him out of the barrier he’s created around himself. Then I look at Eren, tears running down my face as I stare at him with desperation, even though he can’t see it. I have no hope for Levi. We’ve lost him and it’s down to his self-determination to get himself up again. For some reason he feels as if this is _his_ fault. I could feel it from the moment he came here to help us.

But it isn’t. This is all me. I dragged Marco and Eren into this. Therefore it is me who should be taking their place.

_I’m so sorry._

“Jean,” Marco whimpers, standing up to look at me properly. “Choose Eren.”

“What? No! I’m leaving here with both of you!”

“Think about it,” he smiles falsely, “they’re here for me, so let them take me. If you do choose me they’ll kill us all anyway. Just let me go.”

Upon hearing this, Mike’s grin widens, almost embracing the air as he says those words. “I think that’s a _splendid_ idea, Your Highness!” he coos. “What do you think, Jean?”

“Go to hell,” I spit.

“Well,” Mike sighs, “that’s a shame.” He beckons the vampire carrying Eren to the front of the crowd, the talon still pressed against his exposed, bloody neck. “I’ll just have to kill your precious friend.” The vampire begins to stroke Eren’s cheek insolently, whilst pressing the claw to his skin again, the edge getting deeper and deeper, and Eren’s not waking up.

“Eren!”

I’m screaming, running towards him as more blood flows out of the premade wound. My breath becomes ragged, panicked, I’m yelling, crying out to him to just wake up already. And with the sounds of Marco’s cries behind me Levi’s fucking silence, it all gets too much.

And then it all happens so quickly.

With an almighty yell, I slam my hands in front of me towards the vampire carrying Eren, my fingers burning with a stabbing pain as I inflict all my wrath into my skin. I don’t lose focus as a scorching ball of light shoots from my palms. It speeds past Mike’s head before he can retaliate and latches onto the skin of the monster, seeping into its skin.

The moment it’s touched by my light, it screeches, dropping Eren onto the floor and attempting to scratch the luminosity out of its body. It doesn’t do any good. The vampire only ends up shredding its own skin as the light scalds him from the inside out. The glow shines through its veins and eyes, radiating brilliance into the street until its body shatters, leaving only a pile of dust behind.

As the soot begins to fall, Mike’s jaw goes slack, staring at the space where one of his followers used to be. And then he turns to me, eyes holding a little less fire than the first time I laid eyes on him. “Well, we weren’t told about that,” he says casually. But his calm tone doesn’t stay for long as I hold my hand out in front of me and another orb is created in my palm.

“Then whoever you’re working for should do some better research.”

I grin at him through the light, knowing that now it’s _my_ turn to wreak havoc and watch them all die. I want to watch them suffer. I want to watch the look on their faces as they experience excruciating pain. I want to watch as they turn into nothing but ashes and are whisked away into the night, leaving no trace of their existence behind. I want to kill every last one of them in the most agonizing way possible.

“Have you seen your eyes, witch?” Mike laughs. I ignore him, keeping my energy and resentment focussed on the light in my palm. “They’re almost as black as your soul.”

“You know nothing of my soul,” I hiss, the bitterness on my tongue making the luminosity even more brilliant and sharp.

“I know a lot more than you think,” he sniggers. “You’re becoming darker every day… It’ll consume you soon.”

The fire burning within me is brighter than ever before, only driving the wrath that I shall place upon the Caedem’s heads.

“You know nothing.”

With as much anger and ire that I managed the last time, I crush the globe in my palms, smashing it into millions of pieces. The shards float around me for a moment, captivating the vampires’ attention through its seeming innocence. And with just a flick of my hand, the splinters all surge towards them, leeching onto their bodies in all places as soon as they come in contact with flesh.

I watch with a pitiless gaze as Mike and his disciples shine and scream for the first time in their pathetic lives, their skin glowing and veins running silver. With a final screech, Mike bears his fangs at me and disintegrates into nothing. His disciples fall after him, creating a flare of brilliance, shining into every shadowed crack and corner. The shadows that clung to Mike’s body disband in the light, mocking me as they pass, but leave without causing me any more damage. And as the radiance fades into black again, I begin to regain my senses.

All is quiet in the street, but I can’t breathe right just yet. Eren’s still losing blood by the moment and Levi is still trapped in his own world where death and destruction seems to reign. But at least he’s no longer screaming.

Nothing feels right. I keep expecting the piles of ashes forming a circle around Eren’s body to reform into the structure of a vampire and kill me right here and now, but they don’t. I’ve obliterated them into nothing but dust and yet I can’t shake the feeling of guilt within me, even though they were here to kill Marco. I don’t even know why.

“Marco,” I sniff, a choking feeling prickling at the back of my throat. “Let’s go home.”

He appears next to me, carrying Levi on his back, covered by a layer of his armour. He kisses my cheek and I feel damp as our skin makes contact.

“Are my eyes still…?” I trail off before I finish my question. Marco’s grave expression is enough of an answer. But he nods anyway.

“They’ll wear off, my love. They always do,” he smiles emptily.

With the upmost caution, I pick up Eren’s fragile and broken body, holding him in my arms as if he were made of precious gems. And then we leave, ignoring the opening doors and windows that civilians are waving and applauding out of.

They witnessed nothing heroic tonight. We weren’t here to save them. We were here to save ourselves from the shadows. I’m still not the great witch that I am expected to be – I’m merely a lowlife that only causes destruction and death wherever I walk.

The darkness that resides here will come for me soon. I could see it. The shadows were clinging to everything – even Marco. Their tendrils were wrapped around his ankles like Eren’s bonds, beckoning me to come and save him. I know that if they’re after Marco, I’ll be next. And if the end of this is anything like the nightmares we’ve been sharing, I won’t be prepared for what I could become.

As we leave, pained, screeching roars ring in my head. They scream at me as I leave, becoming more desperate and tortured, the further I venture away from that place, reeking of death. The tortured cries grate against my skin and claw at my ankles, but I have to keep walking, keep ignoring them. They’re screaming because of me, I know it. But there’s nothing I can do. I’m useless like this. I’m too weak to even stop the voices.

And then one of them screams out my name.

_Lend me your eyes; I can change what you see. But keep my soul from changing me._

* * *

 

No one says a word the whole way back to the shop. And Eren doesn’t wake up, either. Blood’s been dripping from his wounds the whole time and I haven’t managed to cover any of them yet. It’s going to take a lot for him to recover from this – if at all.

The moment we step through the threshold, Marco takes Levi into the kitchen, laying him on a makeshift bed so he can rest until morning. Whilst he does that, I take Eren into the back room and lay him on my desk.

I have to stand back for a moment to look at the full extent of the damage I’ve inflicted onto him by bringing him into this.

The gash on his neck isn’t deep enough to be fatal, but he’s lost a lot of blood from it and he’ll need stitches. I’ll have to do that soon since he’s still unconscious. But his throat isn’t what I’m worried about – it’s his head. I don’t know how hard Mike hit him, but if you get your head smashed into a wall by a vampire, then it’s got to be bad. And then I look at his legs. They’re so bruised and broken that I can’t even attempt to guess if he’ll even walk again after this.

Staring at the wreck of my best friend as he bleeds over my books makes me question why I’m still doing this. I’m dragging so many people down into this shithole with me that maybe it’s not even worth it.

I kill the one I love every night in my dreams, he’s nearly died because of me, a vampire’s been reduced to a blithering mess because I couldn’t save myself or Marco, and now Eren could die tonight because of me.

That’s all it takes for me to lose it completely.

“I’m so sorry,” I weep, cradling Eren’s body in my arms. “I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.” Even though I can feel his faint breath against my skin, I still can’t help but feel the weight of responsibility that weighs down on me every time I look at that wound on his neck. “You’ve got to live, Eren. I’ll do as much as I can but we both know how fucking useless I am. You’ve got to help me.”

Footsteps come to a stop behind me as Marco wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzling into my neck and kissing my skin lightly. “You can do this.”

“I don’t think I can anymore.” I shake my head, leaning into Marco’s touch. It’s the only refuge I can find now. He’s left imprints on my skin in the shape of his fingertips and feeling him fill those cracks makes me feel a little less alone. “This isn’t even the end, yet why do I feel like I’m being tortured all the time? I can’t do anything right anymore. What if I really am a monster?”

“ _Jean_ —“

I pull out of his grip, running towards the shelves to find my case that contains my needle and thread. Whilst I rummage through the jars and vials with frustration, Marco stays put, keeping an eye on Eren and I continue to fuel my own doubt. “Look at him, Marco!” I yell, nearly knocking a jar onto the floor. “He’s dying and it’s my fault!”

“Jean—“

“And I can’t even find the _fucking_ case!”

“Jean, _please_.”

Glass shatters as I fall backwards onto the floor, taking a set of vials with me. Shards and unknown liquids scatter all around me, cutting my hands on their edges and I sit there surrounded by the chaos I’ve created just by fucking being here. And it _hurts_. Everything _hurts_ and I’m nowhere near finishing this. My best friend is still dying on my desk and I’m too weak to even get up and save him.

“I can’t do this anymore!” I scream, scraping at my skull. “Just end it! End all of this! Why me?! Why do _I_ have to do this?! Just leave me alone!”

Arms enclose me in a sheath of warmth, warding away the cold biting at my skin and I’m enfolded into Marco’s form. He’s crying with me, rocking me in his arms as I deteriorate within his hold. As he tries to comfort me, glow begins to radiate from my wounds as my body heals itself. Each cut and gash on my skin seals up, leaving the evidence of tonight’s events behind in the form of blood-stains.

It makes me sick. I should be the one bleeding, not them. I should be the one who’s dying from blood loss, not Eren. I should be the one the Caedem are after, not Marco. I should be the one to end this by myself and not bring anyone down with me. I deserved those wounds on my skin and now they’re gone just like that. I’m not the one who needs these powers and I don’t even want them anymore.

Why is it that I can heal myself, but I can’t heal others? If I could, then I could have saved Eren by now. But my powers only allow me to continue the thing I seem to be best at… causing devastation. These “privileges” that I’ve been “blessed” with are nothing but a curse that crushes and cripples me more and more every day.

“I just want it all to end,” I weep, forgetting to keep my mouth shut whilst I’m thinking. The words keep coming anyway. “I’m only here to destroy, so what’s the point? I’m meant to save this world but why can’t I use my powers to do good? I can only kill… a-and monsters kill.  So what… what makes me any better than the vampires I just turned to dust?”

Marco reacts instantly, pulling me into him tighter so he can press my head against his chest. His heart’s beating so quickly. His rushed breath against my skin as he tries to hold back tears is almost too much to bear, but I stay in his arms anyway. It’s the only place where I feel as if I can be myself.

“You are brighter than any star I have _ever_ seen,” he breathes desperately. “You are the sky that poets write about. You are the very _meaning_ of light, Jean and _that_ is why you must do this. Your light outshines all, even on the darkest of nights and I can’t imagine anyone better to save us all,” he says, kissing me between words. “You’ll make it through this, Jean, and once we’re done, we can leave. We can go to Stohess together and never come back.”

I look up at him with glazed, blurry eyes as he smiles weakly at me. “You’ll come with me?”

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

I don’t know how to react. He’s left me breathless yet again, but I’m still weak. I can’t save Eren and I don’t know how to. I’m wasting time just by sitting here and having a breakdown. My breath’s still heavy as I stare into Marco’s calming eyes. But no matter how much I try, the anxiety of what’s looming over the horizon is still crippling enough for me to lie here hopelessly.

I glance back at Eren over Marco’s shoulder and the tears return. I’m not even going to be able to say goodbye to him properly. I can’t even apologise for dragging him into this. He’s going to die and I can’t do jack shit about it.

“Jean,” Marco breathes, moving so he’s in my line of sight. “Tell me how to help Eren.”

“You can’t.”

“Yes, I can and you’re going to tell me how.”

“ _I’ll_ do it,” I gripe, staggering upwards from my fall by grabbing onto the shelves. But the blood on my hands makes it harder to grip and I just collapse all over again.

“You’re not stable enough. Just tell me how.”

Shaking, I glance between Eren’s body and Marco over and over again. I can’t think straight. I can’t even breathe. Why does Marco even want to take on the responsibility of Eren’s life? He could die in his arms and he’s actually _prepared_ for that?

“Jean,” he snaps, “tell me.”

So I give into him.

“S-stitches,” I stammer. “Stitches o-on his neck.”

“What else?”

“Painkillers for his head. You’ll need to take the debris out of his wounds. A-and stitch that too. Stitch everything. Just stop the bleeding and hope for the best.”

It’s all I can manage. I can’t think of anything else to help him. But Marco smiles at me anyway. It’s not like the smile I’m used to that brings hope and warmth with it; it’s a smile that just says “it’ll be alright no matter what happens”. Something inside me doesn’t believe him. I don’t even think he believes in himself.

Cautiously, he helps me up, getting more blood over his armour, but he doesn’t seem to care. Red doesn’t show up much on black, anyway.

“I’ll take care of him,” he says, leading me to the stairs. “You’re not in the right frame of mind to be doing this.”

I glance back one more time at Eren and pray to whatever’s out there that he’ll be safe. I just want him to live. He never deserved any of this and I just want to tell him that I’m sorry – for everything. I owe him so much more than a pathetic apology that’ll leave me a blubbering wreck like I have been for most of the night, but it’s all I can give him right now. I just want him to wake up so he can hear it.

At the bottom step I freeze, trembling in Marco’s support as I stare upwards towards my room and that darkness that surrounds it. The daunting black shakes me to the bone and I become reluctant to take another step. I’m getting to the point now that my dreams and reality are almost as bad as each other. I don’t want to watch the one I love die by my hand again after this. I can’t endure the throe that it brings with it each night, over and over again, each time becoming more painful. A truly selfish part of me wants Marco to run with me away from all of this, just so I can spend a night in his arms where the shadows can’t touch me anymore.

“Stay with me afterwards?” I plea, tightening my grip on his arm.

“You know I can’t, my love,” he says sadly, running his fingers through my hair. “I have to go back.”

Unwillingly, I nod, falling into his touch one last time before I make my way up the stairs, leaving Marco behind and Eren’s life in his hands.

_I’m scared, Marco. I’m so fucking terrified that I’m going to lose you that I dread the day that our dreams become a reality._

* * *

 

Shattering glass is what wakes me up in the morning. The sound of it reverberates in my throbbing head, only making the pain around my temples worse. Come to think of it, it’s not just my head that feels like it’s been smashed to pieces – it’s my entire fucking body.

Everything aches. All my body parts feel like they’re either about to fall off or they’re just too numb for me to even feel them. I don’t want to move.

The sound of more glass smashing, then followed by a familiar grumbling noise, echoes up the stairs like thunder. I can hear Gumbie hissing and yowling from up here, so there must be someone down there pissing him off. It’s probably just a customer. Fantastic.

Not giving a single shit about the noise downstairs, I flop over onto my stomach and groan into my pillow. I can’t deal with this bullshit right now. My head hurts too much for me to even form words or sounds other than groans and variations of complaining.

What’s the point in having powers than can heal you when they don’t even work on headaches? I may as well just stick a knife in my head and the pain would probably be the same.

With yet another territorial yowl, Gumbie scampers up the stairs to get away from whoever’s down there and scurries into my bedroom. Taking no notice of the way I grumble at him as he continues to make noise, he jumps onto the bed and starts meowing at me.

“Fuck off, Gumbs,” I groan into my pillow. “Just let me sleep.”

I’m answered by a certain fluffball sitting itself on my head, refusing to move until I actually get up.

“Please go away.”

He doesn’t remove himself from my head, but meows instead.

“Move, or I’ll turn you into sausage meat.”

This seems to motivate him and he grudgingly moves off of me, allowing me to breathe in actual air instead of fur. But he seems to have done his job since I actually sit up to give him the death glare instead of flopping back into my pillow.

“Why did you think it was alright to wake me up?”

He gives me the look that makes me feel like I’m an oblivious idiot that has no idea as to what’s going on. Truth be told, I don’t half the time. I can’t remember a thing. Everything’s blurred and foggy and I feel like my face has been smashed in a few times.

“What? Is Marco…?” I stop, trailing off as the sight of Eren’s bleeding, battered body flashes into my mind.

And then I remember everything. Levi… Marco… _Eren._ He’s still downstairs on my desk. He’s still bleeding unless Marco managed to do something about it. But I don’t even know if he’s awake. I have no fucking idea if he’s even _alive._ I was so caught up on stupidly hoping that all of last night never happened that I forgot everything.

“Eren!” I yell, jumping out of bed and sprinting down the stairs, Gumbie hot on my tails. My heart’s started beating erratically as I remember all the blood – all the darkness – that surrounded us last night. Everything comes flooding back to me and it weighs down on me like stone. I can’t shake the feeling. I can’t bear to face him again after knowing what I’ve done, yet here I am, running down the stairs praying to whatever’s out there that I’ll be able to look into his emerald eyes again and say sorry for the millionth time.

How could I have forgotten that I nearly got my best friend killed?

Slamming the back room door open, I allow myself to breathe just for a moment before I look into what I know is the mess I’ve made of him. My hand clings to the doorway like welded metal and I become rooted to the ground. The fear of looking upwards is crippling me, ripping me to the bone and I just don’t want to face the same wreck that I saw last night. So I keep my head down, hoping that the sound of breathing or any signs of life will wipe away my dread.

“He’s fine, witch,” a curt voice huffs. “You can let go of the wall now.”

It’s not Eren, but it’s a voice I recognise.

At those unnervingly comforting words, my breath begins to slow and I release my hold on the threshold, still not quite ready to look upwards yet. A baleful stench still hangs in the air and despite those words, I refuse to endure the chaos I’ve created.

“Jean,” the voice snaps, “Eren’s _fine_ ; he’s just asleep.”

Regrettably, I stare into the room, purposely avoiding the desk where the outline of a body is still lying there. He hasn’t moved much since last night.

Levi’s still here, leaning casually against the wall like nothing’s happened. He appears to have helped himself to my bandages, since his arm’s been patched up meticulously. But his face is a little more blank than usual. I don’t think he’s quite over the events of last night either. Although he’s not the one who nearly died, he’s looking the most distressed out of all of us.

“Has he woken up at all?” I ask, still not looking directly at Eren.

“Briefly – but he closed his eyes before I could get anything out of him.”

“So Marco healed him?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know _what_ Marco did, but whatever it was, it worked. And he fixed my arm up before he left.”

“You let him go back _alone_?” I growl, taking a heavy step into the room, provoking no reaction from him at all.

“He took his bow and arrows with him, insisting that he’d be fine. And I wasn’t going to argue with him.”

“You should have.”

Levi glares at me with a boorish frown, folding his arms over his chest in defence as I begin pacing around the room.

“What if there are still some out there?” I rush, tensing and relaxing my fingers in the air as I attempt not to panic. “What if they get Marco? What if they do to him what they did to Eren?” I pause in front of the desk, staring at the body sleeping peacefully on the books. Just like I’d told him to, Marco’s bandaged and stitched all of Eren’s wounds, leaving no scrape untouched. Even his legs have been tended to. “They wanted Marco, but you let him go alone anyway.”

“You killed the Caedem, Jean. He’ll be fine.”

Eren grunts in his sleep, rolling over onto his side to find comfort over the lumps and bumps I’ve laid him on. He looks so peaceful. You would have never thought that last night he was a crying, trembling wreck. Here, where he can escape it all, he looks at ease, reality slipping away from him. But I selfishly want him to wake up, just so a part of me can have assurance that he really is alive.

“There aren’t exactly many vampires out there, Jean,” Levi says, ignoring the restlessness on my face each time Eren so much as flexes a muscle. “When other creatures began moving into the forest, my kind became the prey. When I left, there were only ten of them left. You killed six.”

“So four could still be out there?” I grumble, taking Eren’s hand in my own.

“Or they’re dead.”

“Killed by someone above them?”

“Exactly.”

When I turn to face Levi, I can’t help but feel the mendacious presence that radiates off him, the more I delve into the subject of his kind. His sentences have become shorter and shorter, yet he keeps telling me things about the Caedem. But there’s still one more thing that I need to know and although I fear that he won’t tell me, it’s worth a try.

Taking on a broader stance, I stare Levi down with the same blank expression that he’s giving me, making myself unreadable. But he’s used to his own tricks, so he leaves the support of the wall and faces me coldly, bracing himself for the confrontation I’m about to deal.

“Who does the Caedem work for?” I ask bitterly, hissing on the name.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

He leans against the desk, a brittle and bare expression washing over him as I continue to challenge him.

Clenching Eren’s hand a little tighter for comfort, I try to think of a logical reason as to why I just _know_ he’s not telling me the entire truth. “Last night, Mike said that you were given orders from a higher power to kill Marco. Who was it and why does it want him?”

“I don’t know.”

I’m losing my patience with him. The hard stare he’s aiming at me makes him unable to read and I either need to do something drastic or wait until Marco gets here so he can deal with him. Yet I have the feeling that if he talks to him, things will become much worse. We might get a repeat of Levi’s breakdown from last night if Marco comes anywhere near him. And if he has information I need, that’s the last thing I want to happen.

“Do you want to protect Marco or not?” I dare, my eyes drilling into him. “Because if there’s something you’re not telling me, then you could be putting him in danger.”

His eyes widen the moment I mention Marco’s name and his entire body begins to tense.

“Didn’t you say that he reminded you of your son? Wouldn’t you want to protect someone like that? Would you even be able to live with yourself if he died? I couldn’t go through that, so why do you think that you can? Why do you even still keep up this act of not caring when _clearly_ —“

“Shut up!” he yells, scraping his hands through his hair. “I _do_ want to protect him! I would defend him to the death, as would you! You’ve ruined yourself for a lot of people who weren’t worth it, but I think you know deep down that he means more to you than the stars in the sky and the breath in your lungs!” Taking in the air around him to dull his senses, Levi closes his eyes before they turn to the darker shade of despair that we both know so well. “We would both go to hell and back to save him for entirely different reasons, Jean, and you know that. He is all we both have left and you know as well as I do that neither of us know how to save him, or why we even need to.”

 _Save Marco_.

At the increase in volume and strain in the room, Eren stirs only a little, still faded from his injuries. He’ll wake up soon if we’re not careful and Levi notices his movements. I breathe a sigh of relief as the grip I have on Eren’s hand is returned.

Audibly, Levi sighs, dragging a hand over his face as he tries to calm himself down and releases the tension in his body. He takes a few deep breaths and finally comes to the realisation of what’s at stake. “I’ve never seen his face, but he calls himself ‘The Darkness’,” Levi mutters, pulling out a chair from my desk and falling into it. “All I know about him is that he’s a witch like you – the most powerful witch that’s ever existed.”

“But _I’m_ the only witch with powers.”

“You’re not,” he says harshly. Pressing his hands to his lips, he leans forwards in the chair, staring at me with stone eyes. His leg begins to shake, the signs that he doesn’t want to remember his time before he joined the Elite Guard finally showing. But we both know that if he doesn’t tell me, then we’ll never be done here. “Whoever this witch is, he’s supposed to be immortal and wreaks havoc wherever he goes. He has the power to destroy us all and no one knows how to stop him. That’s why the Caedem work for him – so they could keep him happy and to stop him from just killing everyone. But he must have changed his mind.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at me with fear in his eyes and breathes very slowly, “Where do you think the plague came from, Jean?”

Before I can answer or even get my head around what Levi’s telling me, Eren begins to groan and move around on the desk, slowly beginning to wake up. I glance at Levi with alarmed eyes and silently plead for him to not say another word – I don’t want to bring Eren any further into this. Luckily, he nods and stays quiet.

Stretching his back and arching off the desk with a grunt, Eren’s eyes flicker open, the glorious sight of green now returning to me. Finally seeing them again makes them seem even more peaceful than ever before.

“Eren!” I breathe, leaning down to wrap my arms around him. The moment my skin touches his I nuzzle into his neck and revel in the feeling of his presence. Just knowing that he’s safe makes my heart beat slow just a little after the panic Levi’s thrown me into.

He’s alive. And it’s all because of Marco.

“Jean, you’re hurting me,” he hisses as I squeeze him a little too tightly, his wounds not completely healed yet.

Instantly, I jump backwards, not wanting to cause him anymore harm and raise my hands up in surrender. “S-sorry.”

He attempts to sit himself up, relieving himself from the discomfort of my books poking into his back, but he’s still weak and he winces in pain as he props himself up onto his elbows. He takes a moment to adjust to his surroundings and the vampire sitting a little too close to him for comfort. Eren gasps the moment he spots Levi, his body turning solid and he looks at me with fear crawling through his veins like insects.

“W-why’s he – ?” Eren stammers, pointing a shaking finger at Levi.

“He’s a friend of Marco’s,” I say as slowly as I can. “He’s here to help us.”

“He’s one of them,” he shakes. “He’s a monster like them!”

The breath in my lungs gets caught in my throat as I hear him say that. I’ve heard that word too many times now for me to stomach it for any longer. Eren has no idea what Levi’s done for him, yet he calls him _that_ anyway? He’s been so blinded by the darkness that’s been surrounding him that he can no longer see the light in others.

Levi stays still, staring at Eren coldly as he continues to throw mindless insults at him. I imagine that he’s been through this all too many times before, so he goes quiet and accepts it. That’s what people do who have lost themselves; they do nothing but sit in silence whilst the word that defines them silently devours their soul.

Terrified of Levi’s minimal reaction, Eren tries to shuffle backwards… only to realise that he can barely move his legs.

To watch the way his face falls from fear into the darkening realms of dejection is one of the most awful things I’ve ever had to experience. I want to scream apologies at him – explain why I couldn’t get to him in time. But the choking expression of torture that he’s giving me makes my breath weak and I no longer have the words to explain.

He needs to know that it’s my fault that he looks like the light has been stolen from his life and that it’s me who doesn’t know how to help him. But I can’t.

With a look of horror on his face, he leans forwards, no longer caring about Levi’s presence and picks up one of his limbs. When he feels nothing, he drops it back onto the desk limply. He scuffles some more on the wood, his face becoming more and more horrified as he realises what’s happened and all I can do is stand here and look sympathetic.

“Jean, what…?” his voice cracks as the growing presence of cries begin to tremble from his chest. Tears begin to fall from his face as he begins to strike his lower half with his fist, becoming more agitated by the moment. “What’s happened to me?!” he shouts, still hitting himself and feeling nothing. “W-why can’t I – Jean! I can’t feel my legs! I can’t feel them! Why won’t they move?!”

“E-Eren, I…” I don’t have anything to say to him. All I can give him are empty apologies and a false hope of recovery if I can manage. I don’t even know what the vampires did to his legs, so I don’t know what to do with him.

“I can’t move!” he shrieks, hugging his broken limbs as he sobs into them. “Jean, I can’t feel them! What’s happened to me?!”

“I’m so sorry, Eren.” I choke back as many tears as I can in an attempt to make him feel a little less mournful, but they come anyway, racing over my skin as my breath hitches. My apologies and begs for forgiveness come out as strangled weeps and I eventually give up on trying. He can’t even hear me through his grieving screams.

The fleeting moment of relief I experienced when Eren woke up is completely diminished as I stand here and watch him batter his own body because I couldn’t get to him in time.

Eren may be alive, but seeing him like this, screaming at his paralysed bones is enough to make me question if I’ve done the wrong thing. I’ve caused him so much misery throughout his life that maybe things would be better for him if I just left him alone. The way he’s crying at his legs makes me feel as if I’m being ripped into shreds, each scream hurting more each time. I’m such a coward that I can’t even look at him, so I stare guiltily at the floor, taking the entire blame for Eren’s throes on my shoulders.

I can’t take this anymore.

* * *

 

“ _But will he walk again_?” I say to Marco slowly.

He shifts in his chair, looking somewhere other than my eyes as he tries to think of an answer. “I-I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, Jean.”

“No, Marco, you’re a witch. And believe me they’re a lot more useful than fucking doctors,” I mutter, pacing around the back room and raking my hands through my hair. It’s a better coping mechanism than crying, so I’ll take it despite the mess I’m making of myself. “How badly was he bruised?”

“I could barely see his own skin. I had to move some of his bones back into place, but I think a lot of them are broken. I did put some healing balm on his legs, though.”

Resting my head against a shelf, I close my eyes and try to return my breath to normal. “Did it do any good?”

“Not really.”

I’m just glad that Eren isn’t here to listen in on any of this. The moment Marco walked into the shop he became a crying wreck again, and I’d only just managed to calm him down. He was thanking Marco over and over again, praising him for saving his life and for doing all he could for him. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that it was me who killed the six vampires that took him hostage in the first place. But it’s better that way.

Levi left soon after Marco arrived and things are still awkward between the two of them. They hardly spoke a word to each other. I suppose they don’t really know what to say after last night. I wouldn’t if I was in that situation.

And now Eren’s upstairs, sleeping comfortably in my bed as Marco and I discuss what to do with him or if he’ll even recover from this. But I’ve fed him so much hatred and desolation over the last few years that I’m beginning to wonder if he ever will.

Heat presses against my back as Marco’s arms snake around my waist and he kisses my shoulder lightly, breathing into my ear soothingly as I begin to shake in his hold.

“What’re we going to do, Marco?” I quiver. “We’re nowhere near the end but I’m completely spent. I can’t cope anymore.”

He turns me around to look at him and holds me in place whilst his fingers caress my skin. Hollow, empty eyes stare back at me and I feel as if he’s casting me into oblivion – just for a moment so I can forget all of this for a brief touch of amenity. So when he kisses me to make me forget the darkness that surrounds us, that’s still screaming torture in my head, I fall into him completely.

I’ve found someone who still loves me at my lowest, and stays with me even when I’m not exactly loveable. To me, that’s worth all of this misery that’s been placed on my shoulders. I don’t even need to tell him that I love him; he knows by the way I pull him in for a little longer just so I can let his touch linger on my skin. Feeling him like this makes it all the harder when his touch fades and I’m falling back into the shadows again.

Moths fly towards the light in hopes that there’s a darkness on the other side. So if this is my light, I’m dreading what’s to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any typos/mistakes! I really wanted to get this chapter up tonight, but it's currently 1:30AM so I'm sorry for shoddy grammar etc.  
> And I guess I'm sorry about Eren too.
> 
> In case anyone was curious, [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/109316246829/yenfae-derptasticotaku) is what the shadows sound like. Warning: link is really, really fucking creepy and I nearly shit myself when I heard it.
> 
> Next chapter: It's the beginning of the end.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	12. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually managed to get this updated kind of (not really) on time! I'm sorry for the delay but I've got exams to prepare for, so I'm warning you in advance because the updates may get more delayed after this.  
> Anyhoo, I'd like to say a huge thank you to [spain-love04](http://spain-love04.tumblr.com/) for creating [these](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/110260158289/spain-love04-jean-witch-and-prince-marco-based) gorgeous drawings of Jean, Marco and Gumbie. I adore them, thank you so much!  
> There isn't actually a lot of Jean in this chapter, so it's mainly Marco issues going on, I'm afraid.  
> Warnings: (very short and vague) smut and lots of slurs.
> 
> Enjoy!

Explaining to Hannes why his nephew could no longer walk wasn’t easy. At first he didn’t believe us, explaining that there was no way that someone like Eren would ever be that careless. Eren himself, however, shivered in Jean’s arms at that moment. He hadn’t been careless at all. He’d just gotten caught up in something that he couldn’t control. In fact, we had no idea _how_ Eren even ended up like this. He refuses to talk about the events of what happened that night and fades out at the very mention of Mike’s name.

But when Hannes tried to wrestle Eren out of Jean’s arms, accusing us all of lying, Eren collapsed onto the floor. The scream that followed his fall made my insides turn as Jean tried to pick him up again. But even now, Eren’s still in denial over the fact that both his legs are broken and when everyone came to his rescue, he just pushed them away, stating that he could get himself up.

Of course, he couldn’t.

The worst part was that we couldn’t even give Hannes a straight answer as to how it even happened. We didn’t think he’d believe us if we told him that Eren got held hostage by vampires, so we said nothing, hoping that Eren would explain. But he never did.

Jean’s still livid with himself for not getting to the vampires beforehand and blames himself for both mine and Eren’s pain. But what he doesn’t realise is that because of him, Eren’s alive. _He_ is the one who killed the Caedem. _He_ is the one who was brave enough to stand up to them first. If it wasn’t for Jean a lot of innocent people wouldn’t be alive today. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see that.

 

* * *

 

“Marco!”

The vial in my hand drops to the floor the moment I hear him scream my name and I sprint into the back room, not caring about the shattered glass on the floor.

I find him crouched down on the floor in a corner of the room, clawing his hands through his hair and rocking back and forth like a madman. Shaken breath comes from his trembling lips as he continues to pull his hair out, sobbing into himself and letting whatever’s tormenting him take over.

“Jean?” I approach him slowly, taking my time as I take miniscule steps towards him. I know to be cautious when he gets like this. Even the tiniest sudden movement could cause him to completely break down and I don’t want to deal with that again – not after what happened last week. ”Jean, sweetheart, what’s happened?”

Instead of kneeling in front of him like I usually do in an attempt to comfort him, I stand back as he looks up at me. His eyes are black again, filled with nothingness and blank emotion that swallows me whole. It terrifies me when this happens. I always hope they wear off, but it’s still difficult.

“They’re black, aren’t they?” he whimpers, taking his quivering hands away from his head.

“They are.”

“Is that why you won’t come any closer?”

My breath catches in my throat. I don’t know what to say to him anymore. Moments like these have become a regular occurrence ever since we fought the Caedem, but each time gets worse. His eyes stay the same for much longer and neither of us know why.

He thinks he’s becoming a monster.

Although his eyes are the colour of the very darkness that’s torturing him, I can still see the pain in them each time he looks at me.

Gritting my teeth, I forget everything about being cautious and run over to him, throwing my arms around his neck. I pull him into me as far as he’ll let me and stroke the back of his neck, breathing into him as calmly as I can.

“I can hear them screaming, Marco,” he cries. “They’re in agony. What if I did that to them and that’s why I can hear them?”

I hush him and draw him even closer. “You haven’t done anything, Jean.”

He screams into my chest and claws at my skin as more shrieks fill his head with suffering. I can hear the way his voice scratches at his throat, making his cries red raw and sharp enough to make it feel as if a knife is being plunged into my chest.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” He starts banging his fists on my back in misery, desperate for a way out or someone to make the pain go away. But I can’t. I don’t know how to. Each time this has happened we’ve waited it out together, but this time it’s taking so much longer and I can see the screams in his eyes. “It hurts!” he yells as he pushes me away, getting up and running into the shop.

I chase after him, coming to a standstill in the threshold as I watch him pick up a clear glass jar from one of the shelves. He holds it in front of him and stares at the distorted reflection glaring back at him – black eyes and all. His hand comes up to inspect his face, wondering if it truly is him that he’s looking at. And once he realises that the thing in the glass really is his own image, he throws the jar on the floor.

The sound of the glass smashing makes me cringe and my shoulders tense in fear. But when he turns to me, the look in his eyes isn’t wrath or resentment, it’s devastation. He starts raking his hands through his hair again and he screams, falling to his knees and resting his head on the floor. He stays there, utterly still aside from his trembling hands clenched around strands of his hair, and cries.

I don’t even try to comfort him this time. There are moments in time when you don’t need someone to tell you that everything will be alright – you just need a shoulder to cry on. And that’s all I do. I sit next to him, holding him tight in my arms as he weeps with tears in my eyes and the want for the two of us to run away from here and live in tranquillity.

But it’s not that simple. We both have our own demons to fight before we can live with ourselves and rest in peace.

 

* * *

 

Mine and Jean’s nightmares have been getting worse. Since we defeated the Caedem a few weeks ago, our dreams have been entailing much more vivid and torturous images that almost feel as if they’re real. The screams still ring true in my ears, even after I wake up and the pain in my chest is still there, arising each time I think of my hallucinations.

It’s almost as if when one evil is defeated, another rises. But Jean says it’s been there the whole time.

I know he’s referring to the Darkness. He told me everything, even though Levi had asked him not to, in fear that I’d be fuming with him for not telling us this sooner. But he can’t expect me to _not_ be pissed off about something like this.

We’re talking, yes, but it’s small talk. After what he said about me that night things haven’t been quite right between us. He seems to be more forward about protecting me, explaining that something wants me dead. Yet he can’t seem to tell me why.

But there’s something else that I think Levi should be more concerned with – something Mike said to Jean just before I shot him for the first time: “ _I had orders not to kill you_.”

If the Darkness wants Jean alive, then what for? And if that’s the case, then why is it that I am the one who should die? It’s not like I have powers like Jean does or could be a nuisance to anyone, yet why is it me who has been chosen to be killed?

None of this makes any sense.

Instead of going further into the corners of my self-doubt, I’m interrupted just in time by no other than Petra coming in to wake me up. What she doesn’t realise is that I’ve been awake for hours and have been sitting on my bed, with my head burrowed in my hands and my feet scraping the floor for so long that I wouldn’t be surprised if I have indents of my fingernails in my skin, and skid marks on the floor. My lack of sleep seems to be taking its toll on me.

Staring at me with a curious frown, Petra perches herself on the edge of my bed next to me and wraps her arm around my shoulder. She’s good at that – knowing when something’s bothering me. Apparently I’m too obvious with it and I may as well have my issues written on my skin for all to see. But I think that’s just Petra being her usual intuitive self.

Noticing my obvious solemn expression, she attempts to distract me. “Your antics from the other night are currently being discussed over breakfast,” she giggles, leaning into me slightly. “Word of yours and Jean’s battle against the _‘Great Beasts of the Night’_ seems to have gotten the attention of Pastor Nick.”

“Pastor Nick’s here again?” I groan, allowing her soothing touch to warm me through. “Wasn’t he here yesterday?”

“He was,” she nods, “but news of your encounter seems to have made him quite excitable.”

My shoulders twinge from a sudden shiver down my spine and I turn to Petra with worry swelling in my gut. “No one knows it was Jean and me who fought them, right?”

She shakes her head. “They know it was Jean; he’s easily recognised. You on the other hand have never been introduced to the public as the prince, so no one knows who you are—“ I breathe a sigh of relief “—but of course they know that Levi was there.”

The twinge comes back and I look at her warily, raking my fingers through my dishevelled hair as I try to stammer out a response. “W-what are they saying?”

“I don’t know. I was told to come and get you before I heard anything else.”

“So they know absolutely _nothing_ about me and Jean?”

“No.”

“And Levi hasn’t said a word?”

“You know he wouldn’t, Marco.”

Somewhat relieved, I fling my arms around her and make sure to give her an extra hard squeeze, mindful not to suffocate her. I don’t think I appreciate Petra as much as I should, so she deserves this. “Petra, you’re a blessing,” I say, giving her a big, overstated kiss on her forehead.

“B-but I didn’t do anything,” she stutters, recovering from my embrace.

“You’ve done a lot more than you think.”

Smiling and looking like I haven’t slept in days (which I haven’t), I help Petra up off the bed. She stares at me with a quizzical glower for a moment, trying to figure out the cause for my sudden change of mood. But although it sounds bad, I don’t see how Erwin could ever find out that I was there the other night. They have no way to prove it – unless Levi tells all, that is. But he wouldn’t. He cares about me too much to do something like that. The words he said to me the other night still remain prominent in my thoughts, reminding me that maybe the vampire that I’m in the care of isn’t too bad, after all. He only wants to protect me, and I’m not going to argue with that.

I’m not quite sure what to have expected. I didn’t even realise that the news of mine and Jean’s fight with the vampires had spread so quickly. And to think that it has managed to reach the ears of my uncle is another miracle entirely. The situation is almost laughable since not only does Pastor Nick not believe in vampires, he has no idea that I happen to be in the care of one, yet he’s intrigued by this apparent battle that happened right under his nose.

The rumble of Pastor Nick’s unmistakeable guffaw only gets louder the closer Petra and I get to the hall. His passionate chatter echoes coldly over the stone floors and walls, causing me to become uneasy. It’s the way he says “vampire” like Jean would say “gremlin” that makes my insides turn. I can already tell just by listening to the chatter that Erwin’s zoned out of it all as he’s not responding. Either that or he just can’t get a single word in. Personally, I think it’s the latter.

Petra and I walk through the threshold of the towering doorway together, coming face to face with the lavish table that’s been set out for only three of us. The amount of food on the table for just one meal would probably feed Jean for three days. And to think that it’s all going to be wasted.

The mere sight of Pastor Nick stuffing his face whilst Erwin looks on in disgust makes me feel physically ill. But I sit with them anyway whilst Petra stands by Levi, still not quite looking him in the eye in fear that she’ll be given the cold shoulder like before.

“Ah, Marco,” Pastor Nick smiles with bits of chicken stuck between his teeth, “so glad you could join us.” He proceeds to offer me numerous plates of food that I turn down each time, passing off that I’m not hungry. In fact, I just feel too vile to even look at anything edible. But I’ve used that excuse a few too many times before. “I was just telling your uncle about the attack of the Great Beasts of the Night. Have you heard about it?”

“No.” I shake my head, looking to my uncle for some relief. “No I haven’t.”

“Really?” Pastor Nick says, raising his eyebrows. “You should have.”

Erwin sighs and holds the bridge of his nose between two of his fingers, screwing his eyes closed as if he were experiencing an excruciating headache. “I don’t think he needs to know, Pastor,” he exhales. “It’s been sorted so we should just leave it.”

“But I think His Highness needs to know these sorts of things. If he is to become king one day—“ my bones shake at the very thought “—then he must learn to realise that there are things or people out there that will want him dead.”

Erwin merely sighs in defeat and waves his hand to allow the pastor to continue telling me everything I already know. “According to your child-minder, Levi,” he sneers, “a group of four vampires came after you last night and were defeated by a boy who could shoot fire from his hands, a master swordsman and a giant hunchbacked man.”

I just about manage to stifle my laughter as I hear the rubbish that comes out of Pastor Nick’s mouth. Clearly the story’s been morphed a little on the way to his hearing or he’s just making it sound more ridiculous than it is just to emphasise his disbelief in creatures of the unknown.

Clearing my throat, I remember where I am and become the person that my uncle and the pastor want me to be: Prince Marco, future king of Jinae.

“What an incredible tale,” I laugh. “I must find out who this magician is and thank him.”

I can practically _feel_ Levi rolling his eyes at me.

“You know, don’t you Levi?” Erwin asks as our eyes all fall onto the figure of the “hunchbacked man” that saved us all.

He shrugs, not taking his eyes off the blank space in front of him. Petra tenses as Levi’s mouth opens, as do I, hoping that he doesn’t say anything that’ll expose me. “It was the witch. I don’t know who this ‘swordsman’ you speak of was.”

I keep my sigh of relief to myself as the chatter between Erwin and Pastor Nick resumes. Whilst they’re busy discussing the improper details of the fight that never actually happened, I faze out for a moment, sipping quietly on my drink in hopes that I’m not disturbed anymore.

“Ah yes, but I’ve been told that there’s rumours that this ‘master swordsman’ is the witch’s lover.”

I nearly choke on my drink.

Coughing and spluttering as concerned gazes fall on me, I put my drink down on the table and regain my breath. I’m only met by odd stares from my peers and a slight scoff from Levi whilst Petra looks on in worry.

“Yes, disgusting isn’t it. The thought of two men together,” the pastor shudders.

“I can’t say I quite condone it, either,” Erwin mumbles, slowly sipping his drink. Yet I can’t help but notice the way he mournfully looks at Levi.

Despite the sharp words hanging on the tip of my tongue, I keep my mouth shut. I’ve come too far just to mess things up now with just a simple mistake.

“Well,” Erwin says, composing himself, “if it was the witch, then we should thank him as Marco said.”

I instantly want to curse my big mouth for saying such a thing. If he’s proposing what I think he is, then Jean will have to come _here_. I can’t allow that. What if I say something by accident? Or if I look at him in a way that just exposes all the feelings I have for him. It’s too risky.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Pastor Nick snorts, clearly not convinced. “Bring the Trost Witch here from the other side of the city just so he can thank the prince that he hates.”

“What?” Erwin frowns.

“Didn’t you know? The witch seems to have a grudge against your family, sir. He despises His Highness with a passion and has previously plotted to have him assassinated on his—“

“That’s not true.”

At first, I believe that it’s from my own lips that those words were uttered. On impulse, I cover my mouth with my hand, hoping that no one heard. But they did. Yet they’re not staring at _me_ in horror; they’re staring at Levi.

“Yes, the witch did used to hold a grudge against His Majesty and His Highness, but do remember that it was in fact the witch himself that saved Marco from _six_ vampires, not four, by destroying them with _light_ , not fire,” he says. “You could almost say that he’s ‘seen the light’.”

Pastor Nick huffs and ignores Levi’s comment. “Well, grudge or no grudge I wouldn’t be happy with scum like him staining the purity of these walls.”

Gripping my seat to stop me from saying something I regret, I stare Pastor Nick down with wrath written all over me and hope that he doesn’t see right through it. This entire conversation’s made me feel like nothing and I just want to get out of here. Just the knowing that I’m here and not with Jean where I should be makes me feel revolting to the very bone. I have recently come to the conclusion that I no longer belong in a place like this, where people look down on others merely because they think they’re better than them.

“But Pastor,” Erwin begins, “these aren’t your walls. They’re mine and I say that Marco should decide if we summon the witch or not.”

“No,” I say sharply. “Not because I agree with Pastor Nick, but because I believe that Jean would have better things to do than listen to my thanks.”

Realising my instant mistake, I stiffen in my seat, watching my uncle’s and Pastor Nick’s every movement. They don’t react at all, even though I said Jean’s name when I’m supposed to have hardly heard of him. They just continue talking like nothing’s happened.

They don’t even notice the way my breath’s started rushing out of my lungs in fear. I almost made everything come to an end just by saying one word. It just goes to show how easy it is to unleash your worst fears just by speaking.

I don’t say a word for the rest of the morning.

 

* * *

 

The cover of night comes quicker than expected. It envelopes me with the hope of seeing Jean again and my entire body feels warm from the thought of him. Although our nightmares are worse than ever, it’s the nights that I look forward to the most.

Since I can’t sneak out as much as I used to in order not to provoke suspicion after my careless mistake from last week, I don’t see Jean as much as I’d like to. Therefore night is our only sanctuary from all the prying eyes that could ruin us at any moment.

I still can’t believe that we’ve kept this up for this long. It’s February and still no one has noticed.

I’ve loved Jean for eight months now, and I don’t intend to stop.

Then I hear him scuffling up the wall and I run over to the window, my nightshirt feeling like a weight on me and I just want to rip it off. Even though he’s not here to do it for me, the anticipation of his touch against my skin is almost too much to endure.

His hands grip the windowsill and he heaves himself upwards, kneeling on an edge so he can peer up at me. His eyes gleam in the darkness the moment he sees me standing in front of him and he begins to giggle when he notices my nightshirt.

“You look ridiculous,” he sniggers. “I thought you slept bare?”

I shrug. “I thought you might like something to take off instead of me ruining the surprise for you.”

“Well,” he grins, “I can’t argue with that.”

Beaming back at him, I grab his arm and haul him into the room, making the two of us topple over and I land on my back with a ‘thud’. Jean soon flops after me, falling onto my belly and then lying there motionless like a fish, staring down at me with a gleam blessing his ever so tempting lips.

I’m quick to take advantage of his lifelessness, switching our positions so he’s on his back and I’m staring down at him triumphantly. He doesn’t protest to the change and lies still as I straddle his waist, running my hands over his chest like it’s made of silk. He sits up, placing a chaste kiss against my cheek and stays there as he fiddles with the hem of my shirt.

“Can I take this of yet?” he laughs into my neck. “You look like my mother wearing this.”

Giggling into the dark, I raise my arms above my head like I have done so many times before and close my eyes in waiting for the feeling of him against me.

When the sensation of his fingertips brushing against my skin finally comes, all the air in my lungs comes rushing out of me and I melt in his hold as he frees me of my clothing. He pulls the material off me in one smooth tug and throws it behind him, not caring where it lands, then latches his lips onto my neck. Wrapping his hands around my waist, he pulls me in closer to him, cradling me in his arms like it’s the last time he’ll ever see me.

My hips are moving out of my control and my hands come alive, wanting to spread over the whole of his body just to absorb the very feeling of him. They end up caressing his cheeks, pulling him away from my neck so I can kiss him properly. The taste of him grows sweeter each time I put my mouth to his and the way his teeth bite into my bottom lip whenever he loses himself for a moment makes the addiction even sweeter.

Once I pull off his own clothes, he begins to move, scooping me up into his arms and leaning towards the bed. But I stop him and push his chest to the floor. “No, don’t,” I mumble. “Stay here.”

He uses his elbows to prop himself up and he stares at me, the moonlight shining over his skin and igniting the spark in his eyes. “Anything you want, my love.”

The playful half smile he gives me makes my heart skip a beat, so I lean over him and press my mouth to his again. Almost like a reaction, he puts his hands on me, running his hands over my back and down my sides. My body feels as if it’s dissolving under his touch.

The feeling in my gut grows stronger as Jean sits up and takes me with him, reaching over to his discarded trousers and into his pocket, pulling out the oil that we always use. He breathes heavily into my neck as he tries to twist the cork out of the bottle, but the anticipation of being able to touch one another again is making him fumble over even the tiniest detail.

A blush creeps over me as I take the bottle from him, moving him back down to the floor and resting on his thighs so I can see all of him glowing in the moonlight shining in through the window. The glint of want in his eyes makes the blood in my veins simmer under his longing gaze, yet I allow him to watch whilst I take care of myself, taking in the feeling of his legs tensing under me each time I gasp his name into the night. Each breathy, quiet moan that comes out of me makes me crave his touch even more and he can no longer hold back.

He rises to me and takes the bottle from my hand, signalling me to stop and his hitched breath turns to dew on my skin. And when he pulls me down onto him, I can’t supress the strangled moan that comes out of me.

My chest’s heaving like it does every time we do this, but something about the way Jean smiles dizzily at me when I look up tells me that this is different. Something’s changing whether it be between us or around us. But I can feel it there.

I don’t even have time to dwell on it when we start moving against one another and Jean’s breath bleeds into moans.

The heat between us rises slowly as we shift together, clinging onto one another like we’ll never let go. The pure feeling of him embracing me like this makes my heart race and my breath come out in laboured, staggered whimpers the lower I sink down onto him.

His tongue traces down my neck languidly, stopping at my collarbone as he hums into my skin. A shiver runs down my spine and he looks up at me with expectant eyes and a grin to match. Then he kisses my neck again, running his fingers through my hair as he whispers, “Can I leave a mark on you?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want me to.”

Biting my lip to keep me from blushing, I point to a patch of skin on my chest, tracing circles with my fingertip. When I feel Jean’s mouth on me again on the exact spot I pointed to, I can’t help but moan his name and move a little quicker.

My breath’s coming out of me sharp and short as he digs his teeth into my skin, turning it a deep purple as he presses against me even harder. Humming as he begins to use his tongue, my hands grapple at his back, raking downwards roughly and leaving behind fresh, red marks.

His lips leave my chest, leaving behind a deep tint on my skin and return to my mouth, kissing me with enough force to make me tense around him. He groans into me, grabbing my waist and moving me quicker.

I’m biting down on my lip as to not shout his name into the nothingness, making it more swollen as only whines and whimpers escape me. Jean’s stuttered gasps and murmurs of my name aren’t making my silence easy, so I kiss him instead, hoping it will muffle my cries as my gut begins to knot.

“J-Jean I—“

“I love you,” he whimpers, digging his nails into my skin. “I love you, Mar-ah! Marco!”

“I l-love you too,” I stutter, holding him closer to me as our breaths being to shorten.

When we tumble over the edge together, Jean holds me closer to him that ever before, whispering vows of love and eternity like it’s all we need to save ourselves.

 

* * *

 

With the change over the horizon coming ever closer, I managed to convince Jean to stay the night with me.

He can feel it too, the slight twinge in the air every time we breathe one another’s name and the feeling in our bones that shakes us to the very core when we look unknowingly into the darkness. Neither of us know what’s in there, but we can feel it coming. So we stay together, wrapped in each other’s bodies in a tangle neither of us hope will ever come undone.

But hopes such as that do not last for eternity and break away as the sun rises, beaming with the cold through the open window. The chill shakes me from the first peaceful sleep I’ve had in months and only when I feel an arm drape itself over my side do I feel the warmth again.

I clutch his hand with my own like I’m clinging on for my own life and roll over so I’m facing him, wide awake and glowing brighter than the sun itself. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he grins, leaning over to kiss me.

“Good morning.” I hum into his touch, burying myself even deeper in his warmth and revelling in the feeling of him waking up beside me. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a fucking baby.”

“No nightmares?”

“None.”

Drearily, I shuffle upwards a little and rest against the pillows, pulling him on top of me like a blanket. And it’s only when I look down at him that I notice the vibrant mark he’s left on my chest from last night. The sheer vividness of the maroons and crimsons left behind by his mouth are enough to make both of us burst into fits of laughter as we stare at the discoloured skin.

“It looks sore,” he laughs, tracing over it with his finger. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not at all. But it’s bright red, though!” I snort. “How hard did you bite me?”

Jean shrugs, smirking at me as he continues to marvel at his work. “What can I say? I was enjoying myself.”

“I’m sure you were, my moon and stars.”

Quiet settles between us as we smile sleepily at one another, still drowsy from the night before. Staring at him smiling back at me like this leads me to wonder what it would be like if we woke up like this every morning.

“I dreamt about you last night,” I smile.

“Really?” he smirks, shuffling down the bed that we conveniently moved onto during the night so he can rest on my chest.

“Mhm.”

“What did you dream about?” he asks with a wide grin. Sliding his hands under his chin to hold himself up, he gives me all of his attention with big, curious eyes.

“Stohess.”

The grin he’s giving me becomes even larger and his skin shines a little more. I hope that when we get there I can see him like this every day and not on one-off nights that I happen to be particularly persuasive.

“We were by the lake – just the two of us. And we were lying in the grass next to each other.” The feeling of Jean’s eyes on me makes my face burn a little, so I look upwards at the cracked ceiling and try to imagine the clear blue sky of Stohess instead of the dreary grey of Trost. “We looked so peaceful. And you held my hand so tightly that I thought it was all real.”

“It will be one day.”

I look down at him with the giddiest grin on my face and I’m relieved to see that he returns it. His glow just makes it look even bigger than usual. “Really?” I ask.

He nods and places a light kiss on my chest, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. “I promise that when we get to Stohess, I’ll sit by the lake with you and hold your hand every day.”

“ _Every_ day?”

“Every single day, I promise.”

I’m just about to lean in to kiss him stupid when a loud banging on my door shocks the two of us into a state of panic. Jean’s glow goes out like candle light and the two of us sit up in terror. He stares at me with frightened eyes and clings onto the sheets.

It’s just like when Levi found us that morning, only worse since we have no idea who’s on the other side of that door.

“What do we do?” he mouths hurriedly.

“Climb out the window,” I whisper back, jabbing my thumb behind me.

“Marco, I’m naked!”

The banging comes again, even louder than the previous time. Whoever’s out there seems to be getting frustrated with me.

“Hide under the bed.”

“What?!”

Before he can protest, I push him off the mattress and hang a corner of my sheet over the side so he can hide behind it. After I’ve looked down to check if he can be seen, I compose myself and cover the rest of my body with the remaining slither of sheet that isn’t being used to conceal Jean.

 “Come in.”

I brace myself as the door opens and Levi storms in with a thunderous look on his face with Petra following meekly behind him. She throws me an expression that can only be described as an apology and closes the door behind her as softly as she can before she stands next to Levi. She looks more worried than usual.

“Where is he?” Levi spits.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I shrug, not letting on the feeling that my heart is out of my chest and half way across the room by now. I want to run down the stairs and out of here, taking Jean with me, of course. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?

“Marco, I can smell him from the other side of the castle. I know he’s in here.” His glower grows even stronger when I start looking in other places where he isn’t. I can hear Petra sigh in disappointment as I let off my telling sign that I’m lying. But then she gasps.

“Marco!” I stare at her with wide eyes as she rasps my name. “What’s that on your chest?”

Blush stains my cheeks as she notices the mark on my chest and I sink further down the bed in hopes of covering it up. But with the majority of the sheet covering Jean’s hiding place, there isn’t much hope and I lie there like a fish, not looking at either of them.

“What do you think it is?” Levi growls. “And I know exactly who did it.”

I keep quiet and continue averting my eyes away from them.

“Just make sure no one sees it,” Levi says. “If someone does then you know what will happen.”

This time, I decide to acknowledge the two of them and finally give them eye contact. I nod slowly, knowing all too well what would happen if someone saw.

“Marco,” Petra begins, “if it makes you feel better, we’re not intending to tell Erwin. We just need to get Jean out of here before someone sees him.”

“Or before I get my hands around his neck,” Levi mutters.

Jean sighs and shuffles under the bed, realising that there’s no use in hiding anymore. He pokes his head out from behind the sheet with a frown on his face and climbs up onto the mattress, taking a corner of the sheet with him to maintain the rest of his pride. “Be grateful,” he scowls, “I saved your life, remember?”

“Yes and you’re also fucking the prince, yet I’m not telling the Duke about it,” Levi snaps. “That makes us even.”

All goes deathly quiet in the room as Jean and Levi glare at each other with gritted teeth. I still don’t understand why the two of them clash so much. They both want to protect me for different reasons, yet every time they come face to face, they end up like this, growling at each other like animals. I suppose Jean’s still angry with Levi for not giving him more information about the Darkness, but it can’t be helped if he simply doesn’t know anymore. I’m just hoping they’ll come to trust each other a little more, especially if Jean and I are planning on leaving soon. I don’t exactly want Levi scouring all over the kingdom looking for me when I’m gone.

Thankfully, Petra steps in before the two of them start attacking one another. “Jean, Levi’s going to lead you out through the kitchens once you’re dressed. It’s one thing climbing through the window at night, but another entirely when it’s daylight. There are patrols of the grounds first thing in the morning and you’re likely to get caught.”

Jean and Levi visibly flinch when they’re told that they’ll be spending some quality time together, even if it’s not for long. But as luck would have it, they grudgingly agree to put up with each other, despite their differences.

“Whilst you two do that,” Petra continues, “I’ll go with Marco to see Erwin. He can’t go on using the excuse of not feeling well so he can miss breakfast.”

With that, she and Levi leave the two of us alone for a while to get dressed. At first, we stumble around in silence, gathering up out scattered clothes and exchanging random items that we’ve accidentally gotten muddled up. But by the time Jean’s fully dressed aside from a missing boot, I can tell that something’s wrong. He’s quieter than before and I don’t know if it’s something I said.

Although Levi and Petra are standing right outside and can probably hear our every word, it’s unlikely that something like that would make Jean so quiet. But I continue to help him search for his missing boot anyway, hoping that he’ll eventually say something.

I find his boot over by my wardrobe. How it got there I don’t really know, but I pass it to him, kissing him lightly on the cheek as he takes it from me.

“You’re not eating?” he asks, shoving his foot into the leather.

“I’m not usually hungry in the mornings.”

“Bullshit.” He ties up his laces lazily and stands up, pulling me into him. He wraps his arms around my neck and looks at me with a lop-sided smile. “What’s going on, Marco?” he asks. “I’m worried about you.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about,” I sigh, bringing him in a little closer, remembering that I won’t be able to see him for a few days. “ _You’re_ the only one you should be worrying about. I’m fine, I promise.”

“ _Marco_ —“

“Really, Jean,” I smile, squeezing his shoulders, “I’m fine.”

Just as he opens his mouth to speak in protest, Levi opens the door. I think that’s the only time I’ve been genuinely _pleased_ to see him this morning. “Hurry up,” he grumbles, “we’re leaving.”

Jean sighs and rests his head on my chest, not taking into account that Levi’s staring right at us. Reluctantly, he pulls away from me and kisses me goodbye.  His lips taste different this time. It almost hurts to kiss him and I’m desperate to keep him close. The further he gets away from me, the more I feel like he’s slipping through my fingers like water.

In recent days the feeling of him not being by my side has become almost unbearable. I’m always terrified that he’ll have a breakdown whilst I’m not there and he’ll have to suffer alone and I can’t endure the thought of him sitting alone in his darkness whilst I live a lie. I’ll love him for all eternity and I loathe the ache I feel in my chest each time he leaves me like it’s the last time I’ll ever see him again.

I watch him leave my room with the same vows of love and eternity on my lips that he whispered to me in the safety of each other’s arms last night. And he returns them with an empty smile and the same three words that make my heart swell even more each time I hear them: “I love you”.

Watching him go is like a light slowly fading into darkness. It leaves me cold and shaking and craving his warmth all over again. And I’m left alone without my brilliantly shining light, wandering aimlessly through this stone prison with only a smudge of existence that he was with me left behind on my chest, deepening the longer it’s left into the darker shades of maroon. Now all I have to do is wait in the nothing until he returns to me.

 

* * *

 

It’s been three days since the night that Jean stayed with me and just as I expected, our nightmares came back in full force, making our sleeps restless and our eyes drained of colour. The lethargy that it’s caused has been slowly building up for months now and it’s starting to take over my body. The weariness is starting to shut my body down little by little, and I fear that maybe I really am becoming ill.

Erwin’s begun to notice my sloppy hand gestures at meal times and my disregard to all the goods placed before me that make my stomach churn just by looking at them. I’m beginning to turn my nose up at everything that’s placed before me – not because I’m selfish, but because I don’t know if I can keep it down or not.

I’ve been picking at my meat for goodness knows how long and the very sight of it is making my skin turn green. I can see Erwin’s growing concern on his face. He looks at me like that so often now that I’m beginning to believe that his expression of worry will become a permanent one.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” he suggests. “That might make you feel a little better. Your grandmother always used to say to your father and I that sleep is the best medicine.”

Ever since I was a small child, I always appreciated my uncle’s advice. He was never around much when I was younger, but when he was I used to listen to every word he said. Now I’m just too different and Erwin has no idea that goes on when the evening drags the sun down.

Sleep is the last thing I need right now. What I _need_ is to defeat the Darkness with Jean, get as far away from here as possible and have him by my side every night so I never have to have another nightmare.

I just need to get out.

Pinching my skin to keep me awake, I shake my head at Erwin’s proposal. “I’m having too much trouble sleeping recently. It won’t do much good.”

The grave smile Erwin gives me makes me feel a little guilty, knowing that he’s only trying his best with me as he always has. But as much as I want to, I know I can’t tell him about Jean and me. He’d be more understanding than my father, for sure, but I can’t take that kind of risk.

So I keep lying, hoping that maybe he’ll forgive me when he wakes up one day to find me gone and a long, handwritten letter thanking him for everything he’s ever done for me in my place.

“I think I need a bath,” I smile wearily. “It might clear my head a little.”

“Of course,” Erwin nods. “I’ll send someone to run one for you.”

As I get up to leave the table, I feel as if I can no longer ignore the pang of guilt that twitches in my chest each time I leave Erwin behind with no clue as to what’s really going on. He’s put up with it for such a long time now that I don’t get why he isn’t fed up with me.

I turn to face him before I walk out and give him a sincere stare in hopes that what I’m about to say will stay with him. He looks back at me with a haggard, blurred gaze and gives me an empty smile.

I wish I could tell him everything.

“Thank you, Uncle,” I tell him, “for everything.”

Instead of giving me an answer, Erwin just nods, returning quietly to his meal as I leave the hall.

Even after speaking to him and trying to get some kind of apology across to him, the guilt latches itself onto my limbs and weighs me down, pulling me further into the ground as I get further and further away from this life and everyone in it.

 

* * *

 

My head now feeling clearer and my muscles a little more relaxed, I stand at my window with the cool air filling my lungs and tracing patterns over my bare chest, bathing in the bright moonlight that’s illuminated even the darkest hollows of Jean’s eyes.

The mark that he’s left looks even darker in this light than it did yesterday, and as I drag my finger over the uneven edges of the smear on my skin, I relive the moments of the last night I spent with him and the last time I kissed him. It all feels so real. Even when he’s not here, I can still feel every kiss he placed on me and every shadow his figure cast over mine.

I’m still terrified, though. The way he looked at me with those heavy eyes as he left felt as if all the life was being dragged out of my body with him. And he looked the same – tired and empty – like the moment he left me took all the energy and light out of him.

It’s never been that way before.

The sound of my door opening without a knock to warn me makes me jump out of my skin and I become frozen solid. Trying to keep my panicked gasp in my lungs where it belongs, I keep my back turned and continue to stare out of the open window, rigid and catatonic.

It can’t be either Petra or Levi. They both knock no matter how pissed off with me they are. And if it’s not them, then it’s someone who doesn’t know about Jean.

Realising this, I wince as a warm orange glow fills my room and illuminates the entire space… including me.

The moonlight that was once beaming through my window is blotted out by the flaming glare of the candle that’s just been carried into my room. And for the first time in months, I find retreat in the shadows cast over me by the towering wardrobe, secluding my skin from the intruder’s glare.

I can’t turn around. My chest, it’s... exposed. Whoever’s in here with me will see Jean’s mark.

“Marco?” the familiar calming voice of my uncle calls. “I just wanted to check up on you after your bath. Are you feeling any better?”

Clutching the windowsill in unease, I keep staring out into the night, hoping it’ll bring me some kind of comfort. But the icy winds and dead landscape are unforgiving and cruel, making it almost impossible to stay like this for much longer.

“I-I’m fine,” I stammer. Chills run down my spine as the glow of candlelight moves closer to me, and I fold my arms over my chest to cover my skin in a quick reaction.

“You don’t sound fine.”

I dig my nails into my skin. How could I have been so stupid? Of course he would have come up to check on me. And my tunic’s nowhere to be seen. I must have left it in the bathroom. Yet running to the wardrobe to grab the first item of clothing I can find is too drastic and Erwin would see the mark anyway.

I wrap my arms around myself tighter. This probably looks too obvious, but I need to keep covered – just until he leaves.

Now happy that I’ve hidden the smear, I turn to my uncle with a smile on my face and stare into the bright candlelight he’s brought in with him. “Really, I’m fine. Thank you,” I say with as much vigour and energy as I can. It sickens me how fake I am becoming.

Erwin smiles and places the candle on my bedside table. As the gold holder hits the wood, the flame shakes, almost going out and leaving us in darkness. I wish it had. The more cover I can get the better – whether it brings the shadows or not, it doesn’t matter. I just need to conceal the secrets that I’ve carried on my shoulders since the day I arrived here.

“You look cold,” he frowns. “Why don’t you close the—“

“I’m fine.”

Seeing him visibly recoil to my snap at him makes my stomach sink. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to speak to him like this. But he needs to leave.

He studies me for a while that’s long enough to make me conscious of every move I’m making. I try to relax my hold on myself in hopes not to look tense, but only the tiniest slip of skin could expose everything. I try to look my uncle dead in the eye, but I can’t, knowing that I’m lying right to his face. I try to breathe normally, but the fear of being found out is enough to leave me breathless.

My nails dig harder into my skin as I slowly close in on myself, turning away from him so I can mask my vices in the shadows. I no longer care if I look obvious. I just need to get him out of here. But when I look back at him again, his expression’s changed.

I already know that it’s over.

“Marco,” he says sternly, “what are you hiding?”

Air catches in my throat and I freeze, all my muscles going stone cold as he inspects every inch of my skin. I can feel his eyes scanning over my chest over and over again, getting even closer to that one, tiny fucking mark that’s going to ruin us.

Although my first instinct is to lie and say “nothing”, my heart’s racing too much and my eyes are too blown out for him to believe me for a moment. So I back away from him, hunching my shoulders as I go and curl up against the wall.

“Please don’t,” I beg.

He moves towards me, concern casting over his features like a wildfire spreading. I’m so far up against the wall that I can’t move. All I can do is tremble in my own skin and wait for everything to come crashing down on me.

“Marco, what is it?”

I shake my head. “ _Please_ , Uncle. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

He’s so close to me I can almost hear his heartbeat. It’s racing, battering against his ribs as he gets closer and closer until I’m utterly cornered. My nails bite into my skin like pointed cages keeping all my secrets in their clutches, and I’m shaking in the surrounding shadows, searching for a way out.

Panic replaces my blood in a heated moment of confusion and starts coursing through my veins, and I run. I storm past Erwin and head for the door, my arms outstretched and ready. The handle’s just within my grasp. I can taste the metal on my fingertips it’s so close.

“Marco!” The call of my name is no longer in anger or frustration. It comes out strangled with tears grasping at the sides. Hearing it is like a kick to the stomach. And I come to a standstill, staring at my closed door with clenched fists and a heavy chest.

It’s over.

“T-turn around,” Erwin stammers, beginning to regain his composure. “Now.”

His stone glare pierces through my chest as I turn to face him. It’s cold, but wavering as he’s unsure of what to do with me. But he can see everything now. I’m laid bare right in front of him and the horror in his eyes is enough to make me believe that he’s finally caught on.

“Is that a love bite?” The way he hisses it out of his lips is too quiet for comfort. I’ve never seen him angry before but if this is it then I’m terrified. This is so much worse than being screamed at. It’s the disappointment that weighs heavy on his tongue that makes my bones cripple. “Answer me,” he snaps. “Is that a love bite?”

“Yes.”

A rush of shaky air breathes past his lips as the truth finally comes out. A part of him looks relieved. He must have known that something was going on this entire time. But the disappointment’s still there, dripping from his lungs as he breathes deeply and it’s making my skin crawl.

Now I just need to keep Jean out of my confession. More lies.

“I… I don’t know what to say to you,” Erwin says, shaking his head as he begins to pace around my room. “W-why? How...? I just…” He trails off, coming to a stop by my bed. With a grave sigh, he sits down on it and holds his head in his hands, scraping at his skin in frustration. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

And there I was hoping I’d get out of this mess. But I’m trapped here in this prison. I can see the outside world from here just over my uncle’s shoulders. But if I left now, I’d be putting Jean in danger. No matter how selfish I can be, and no matter how agonising this is for me, I can’t leave just yet.

But I want to run. I want to run to Jean and leave all of this behind before I put him in danger. The longer I stay here, the more I threaten his existence.

That very thought makes my blood boil and my heart pound in my chest.

“C-can’t you just… _leave_ it?” I plead, the presence of tears slowly crawling their way up my throat. “Can’t I just promise that it won’t happen again and move on?”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Marco,” he says quietly. “Who even  _is_  she?”

_She_. Of course it’s got to be a woman, or I’ll be a disgrace to my entire family.

To save myself from spewing even more toxic lies, I stay silent, staring at the floor like it’ll do any good for me, and wait for Erwin’s decision.

I can hear him breathing rapidly, trying desperately to think of what to do with me. It would probably just be best if he locked me away so I’d never be seen again. It would do a lot of people good, including Jean. All I do is cause misery at the moment.

Eren nearly died because I had vampires after me. Jean’s gets tormented by the shadows on a daily basis. My uncle’s becoming more and more detached from me by the day. Levi’s had to relive the moment he lost his entire family. My own father doesn’t want me. And now I’ve put both Jean and myself in danger.

I may have just jeopardised everything just by forgetting to put on my tunic. That one simple mistake has thrown off everything, making Stohess seem even further away from us.

It’s my fault. I was too caught up in the feeling of his touch to even think about what I was letting him do to me… where I was allowing him to mark me. I should have been thinking clearer. It’s my fault – my doing. And I deserve whatever Erwin decides for me. As long as Jean doesn’t get hurt in all of this, then I will accept anything.

“I’m going to have to summon your father.”

“What?”

The words don’t sink in at first. They hang in the air with a stench, striking fear into my body as they slowly morph into an ominous memento mori. They shake me to the bone as the sound of my father’s almost forgotten voice creeps into my mind again, screaming promises of wrath and devastation.

He must not be summoned.

“Uncle, you can’t,” I breathe, running towards him for the first time tonight and kneeling in front of him like a beggar desperate for some kind of change. “I’ll do anything; just please don’t call my father.”

Erwin looks up from the depths of his unknowing and stares me in the eye with a blank, dormant expression on his face. My very presence seems to be drain the energy out of him as thoughts continue to rush around his head in confusion. “I have to, Marco.”

“But  _why_?” I clasp his hands in desperation and look at him with undying pleas in my eyes. But his countenance stays the same and he continues to look at me as if I were not even there.

“Because I am not your father,” he says with a cool, calm demeanour. “I cannot deal out consequences for you because I do not have the right. And I can’t keep something like this from him. Not only is he your father, but he is also my brother, and when you came here I promised to look after you.” He stops, pushing my hands away from him as he stands and turns towards the door. He looks back at me a final time, disappointment writhing within him as he stares me down, still kneeling and grovelling on the floor. “I’m sorry, Marco,” he murmurs wretchedly, “I clearly haven’t kept my promise.”

“Uncle, wait!”

Erwin slams the door closed before I even have a chance to speak, and the gust of wind that comes with that resounding sound blows the candle out in a whisper, leaving me alone in the cold and dark.

And now, all I can do is sit here and wait, with my heart thundering against my chest and tears streaming down my face.

What kind of battle is even worth fighting when I can no longer feel the victory within my grasp?

 

* * *

 

The very next morning, Erwin orders the entire castle to go into lockdown. Therefore, no one goes in and no one goes out. This includes everyone – even the workers who don’t live on the castle grounds.

On top of that, I’m being kept in my room like I’m a murderer, being checked on at random intervals in case I try to sneak out again. I can’t even leave the confines of this place without being followed by two guards that I have never met.

It’s all in preparation for my father’s arrival.

Over the next two days, the pressure of being kept here without the hope of escape begins to take its toll on me. It’s weighing down on me more and more as the moments pass and it’s terrifying. It’s almost as if I can _feel_ my father’s presence coming closer and Jean’s growing distant.

I haven’t seen him since that night. He probably thinks that I’ve forgotten about him. But I haven’t. I think about him all day and cry myself to sleep at night over the feeling of him not being next to me.

It’s impossible to escape just so I can warn him.

I don’t know what my father’s intentions will be upon his arrival, but I know they can’t be good. Erwin’s been conferring with Pastor Nick about my “situation” and he must have relayed the message onto my father since I can _feel_ the anger growing within him. And he’s on his way here just to scream at me and figure out what to do with me.

Petra’s tried her best to comfort me or at least make me a little less nervous. She’s stayed with me as much as she can whilst still managing to fit in her busy training schedule, but even with her encouraging words, the unease is still there.

“Put it this way,” she says, “at least they have no idea who it is. For all they know, it could be a woman you met whilst you were out exploring. Jean should be fine.”

No matter how much she tries, I still panic. I pace around my room day and night and I barely sleep as it is with the worsening nightmares, but now I lay awake all night, pulling my hair out of my head as I writhe over my mattress in tears.

“I need to warn him,” I sob at Levi’s feet when he comes to check up on me. “I need to tell him what’s happened.”

“Marco, there is no way that’s going to happen,” Levi sighs, trying to help me up. But I’m so exhausted that I collapse back onto the hard ground every time I so much as lift a finger.

“But it has to. He needs to get out of Trost. He needs to stay out of sight until this is over.”

Levi lowers himself down to my level and grabs me by my sleeve. With a ferocious tug, he drags me over to my bed and pushes me onto it. I don’t even bother retaliating. I just lie utterly motionless and hopeless as he stares me down.

 To him, I probably look like a sobbing wreck. I haven’t slept in such a long time and all I seem capable of doing is weeping in my own hopeless world as everyone else tries to carry on as normal.

“Tell me where the hole in the wall is,” Levi mutters.

“What?”

“Tell me where the hole in the wall is,” he repeats, not looking me in the eye as he allows himself to show his softer side.

Choked weeping starts clawing at my throat again, bursting past the barrier of my mouth and flooding into the room. I sit up and hold my head in my hands, every part of my body trembling. “I-it’s near the stables… b-behind a bush.”

I can see Levi’s eyes begin to glaze over as he stares at me in the state I’m in. Even I can see now that this isn’t easy for him, either. If I’m like this when I haven’t even lost Jean, I can’t imagine how Levi felt when he lost his wife and Favian.

“I’ll find a way to warn him,” Levi says, turning to leave. “Trust me.”

I always have.

 

* * *

 

Silent screams and whispered pleas fill every part of me when I feel the presence of my father closer than ever. I don’t need someone to come and notify me that he’s arrived – I can feel the dread that he brings with him.

I’ve already been told my orders by Levi this morning when he stormed into my bedroom after being lectured by Erwin: “Stay in your room until your father and uncle have finished talking. When they’re done, your father wants to talk to you alone. He’ll come and see you in your room and then decide with Erwin on what to do.”

He made it sound so easy. Just endure my father’s screams and insults until it’s all over and accept the consequences. It sounds so simple and painless that I actually believe for a moment that I’ll get through this without screaming.

Until I hear the sound of my door creaking open and the ominous footsteps of my father drawing closer, all I can do for now is sit on my bed and wait. Yet the growing panic within me isn’t making stillness easy and my leg begins to tremble.

I’m making a mess of myself. My hands are all over the place. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t even know how I should react when my father walks into my room, probably with a look of thunder on his face and a prepared screaming match.

The threatening sound of his footsteps isn’t even nearby, yet I can already tell that this won’t end happily.

I don’t even know if Levi managed to warn Jean in time, or if he’s even still in Trost. Either way, he should be in Stohess, standing by the lake with his head held high with Gumbie by his side. And even if I don’t make it to him, he should be happy. His happiness is the greatest joy I could ever experience and I don’t want to ever interfere with that. I’d certainly rather leave him behind so he could be safe rather than staying with him and bringing all of this misery with me.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

And then I hear them, the slow, ill-omened thumps of my father’s footsteps making their way up the staircase that leads to my bedroom door. He’s alone. Only his forthcoming can be heard echoing through the walls and the closer he gets to me, the heavier and angrier he becomes.

A lump forms in the throat as the door handle twists, followed by the eerie creaking of my door, and the tall silhouette of my father stands in the threshold, staring me down like I’m nothing but scum. His eyes are thinner than usual, scrutinising every inch of my body as he glares at me in silence. His entire form nearly blocks out all the light shining in and I become consumed by his presence.

I say nothing as he finally walks in, slamming the door behind him. That final crash is the last I’ll ever see of freedom and it resonates in my head over all the silence. He doesn’t even look at me as he begins pacing around my room, inspecting my surroundings and turning his nose up at every imperfection – including me.

When he finally speaks, the simple, dead tone of his voice makes my skin prick as it washes over me, drowning me in disenchantment. “Do you know why I’m here, Marco?” he asks, staring out of my window and into the chilling air.

“Yes, father.”

“Really? Because you’re not acting as concerned as I expected.” Feeling him move closer to me makes my heart jump and my only reaction is to ball my hands in the sheets for relief. He comes to a stop by my wardrobe, standing over me just to remind me who’s in charge here. Just being in his shadow makes me feel like I’m the smallest, most unimportant living being to ever walk this earth. “Actually, instead of _me_ telling you why I’m here,” he says, “why don’t _you_ tell me?”

Keeping my eyes low, I turn my head to face him slightly. “S-sorry?”

“Tell me why I’m here,” he repeats. “You should know why better than anyone.”

I turn my head back, staring guiltily at the floor as I interlock my hands and gather the confidence to speak. His piercing glare on me isn’t making speech easy and my words come out as loud as a mouse’s squeak.

I feel so pathetic.

“I have a love bite on my chest.”

“ _Really_?” He says it so patronisingly that I’m cast back to when I was only a child, receiving a similar lecture for telling Bertholdt that I wanted to marry him. “How on _earth_ did that happen?”

Just get used to it. It’ll end a lot quicker if I just answer everything he throws at me, no matter how awful. As long as I keep Jean out of it, then he’s safe.

“I had sex,” I murmur.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“I had sex!”

His shadow casts itself in front of me as my words crawl over the walls like spiders, seeping into every crack and crevice that they can find. My father’s glowers becomes harsher as he looks down on me like a smear on the floor and I keep my head down, not wanting to come to terms with his rage.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I do nothing.

“Look at me!”

My entire body flinches at the austerity and venom in his voice and I look up instantly, praying that the screaming’s kept to a minimum as to not stride through these halls in shame when I finally do leave this prison. If there are less people that know, the better.

“Marco, when I was your age, do you know what I was doing?” I know the answer, but I stay silent anyway, knowing what’s about to come. He uses the same method on me every time I do something wrong. “I was married to your mother, may her soul rest.”

The very mention of my mother makes my nails dig into my skin. I’ve been fed this guilt trip too many times before and I don’t think I can endure it again.

“How do you think she’d feel if she was here now, knowing that her own son was having sex right under her nose whilst she and I slaved to keep this kingdom alive?”

I wouldn’t exactly call it “slaving”. If anything, it’s Jean who’s kept Trost from crumbling into ruin. My father’s done nothing to help the effects of the plague or famine. He just doesn’t care. He never cared. He never cared about any _one_ or any _thing_ , especially my mother.

“Don’t bring her into this,” I say quietly, finally standing up for myself. I can feel the ire boiling away inside me as my father’s head snaps towards me.

“What?”

“I said don’t bring my mother into this,” I hiss a little louder. “She’s gone and you know that, so don’t involve her. This is between you and me. That’s all.”

The sharp inhale of breath he takes in warns me that the screaming’s about to start. I guess there wasn’t any helping it. It was bound to happen. I can see the rage burning in his eyes. To think that I’d actually stand up for myself for once instead of sitting there and doing nothing whilst he spewed insults and screams at me.

A lot’s changed since the last time he saw me.

“How _dare_ you speak to me like that,” he sneers, lurching towards me. “Don’t you _dare_ speak to me like I am beneath you, boy. Have you not forgotten that _you’re_ the one who’s going around fucking strangers before you’re married? If you weren’t as privileged as you are, then you’d be killed for this.”

Anger sweltering within me as his voice becomes sharper, I stand up, finally able to look down on him with my towering height. Compared to me, he’s nothing and the feeling of empowerment soars through me. “They’re not a stranger,” I hiss. “I love them.”

“Tell me who she is,” he orders, clenching his fists by his sides as he stares up at me with gritted teeth, “or I’ll make sure that you never hear her name again.”

“I’ll never tell you.”

Pain scratches against my cheek as the sound of skin against skin screams throughout the room, and my head’s thrown to the side, my cheek throbbing. When I recover from the blow, I look back to my father with his raised hand, ready to strike me again if I don’t comply.

He hasn’t done that to me for eleven years, the last time being when I stole some food from the kitchens when I was eight.

Heavy, stalled breath leaves my lungs as my jaw goes slack, and I glare at my father in a furious rage. The pain in my skin burns and blisters into resentment as I watch my father draw back his hand again, threatening me with yet another strike across my skin. The way he looks at me is like he wishes I was never his son at all – that I was a mistake… Maybe I was.

But I’m done playing the obedient prince. I’m done with living in my father’s shadow. I’m done with following all of his rules that have made my life so pointless and empty up until the day I met Jean. I’m finished with it all.

A hand swings at me again, but I duck out of the way, making myself scarce by running to the other side of the room and away from my father. It’s only a temporary fix and I know I’ll have to face his screaming any moment now, but there’s nowhere else I can go.

“Tell me who this bitch is!” he screams, balling his fists in his tunic like a short-tempered child. “If you don’t I’ll…” The rest of it falls on deaf ears. I no longer care what he does to me, just as long as Jean stays safe.

“I don’t care!” I yell, cutting through my father’s temper and reducing him to silence for once. “I don’t care anymore! Do whatever you want to me like you always have! I’m done with all of this! I’m done with this _thing_ you’re trying to turn me in to! I’m done with this life; I don’t want it anymore. You can take your stupid fucking ideal image of a son and rip it to shreds, that’s _not_ who I am anymore!”

As my shrieks come to an end and slowly settle between the two of us like dust, something changes in my father’s expression. I’ve never seen him so infuriated. Even from the other side of the room, I can see his nails threatening to rip holes in his tunic and his face turning red. His breath’s coming out ragged and heated and stares at me with pure _hatred_ in his eyes.

It’s too late to turn back now, so I may as well keep screaming until neither of us have a voice. It’s the only way to get a word in now.

“You _stupid_ boy!” he screams, grabbing a pillow off my bed in a frenzy and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Do you have _any_ idea of how much I’ve done for you? And this is how you repay me?!”

“I have done nothing!”

“You’ve made a fool of yourself! You’re a disgrace to this family!” I can feel his roars booming through the halls for all to hear. The mere volume of his rage is enough to make the floor rumble. “All I’ve ever done for you is try to keep you safe and yet—“

“No!” I scream, banging my fist on the wall behind me. “You kept me away out of _embarrassment_! I was nothing but a pet to you that you could show of at parties. All you need me for is to replace you when you die. Why treat your own son like that for nineteen _fucking_ years?!”

“Clearly I had a reason to!” he bellows, reeling forwards at my outburst.

Hearing that come from my own father is like being stabbed with a knife. Even though I knew that he never treated me like he should… to be called an embarrassment hurts so much more than I thought it would. I almost hate him for it.

When I was younger, I always used to tell myself that being kept away from the real world like a prisoner was for the best. My mother used to tell me terrifying stories of the outside world and they scared me to the point where I was forced to obey my father’s every law purely out of fear. But I always stayed curious, thanks to Petra. And then I met Jean, and it was like the light of my curiosity was alight again. It’s thanks to him that I’ve been able to recognise the misery my father’s dragged me through for nineteen years.

It’s only because he’s my father that I’m not telling him how much I detest the very sight of him and the sound of his voice.

“Do you have any idea how this is going to ruin me, boy?!” he starts again, even more furious than before, letting out all the disgust for me he’s bottled up for so long. I take note of how he’s no longer using my name to address me, just using “boy” as a substitute as if he’s too repulsed by my existence to even use my own name. “If _anyone_ finds out about this then it’ll be a scandal. Your name will be stained with your evils and you will be a disgrace of a king!”

“What if I don’t _want_ to be king?!” I yell, my words beginning to come out in choked sobs as the presence of tears begins to arise. “I don’t want this life! I never did!”

“Why? So you can spend the rest of your life with your _disgusting_ whore?! You’d give up all of this for that _thing_ that’s poisoned you with lust and sex to the point where you’ve become delusional?!”

Blood starts pumping through my veins faster than it ever has done. It’s pounding in my head. It’s making my heart thunder. My teeth grind together and my nails cut through my skin as my father continues to spew his venomous spiel.

I’ve never looked at him with as much loathing as I am now.

“She will never amount to anything, as will you if you carry on like this, _boy_!” He storms towards me, fists clenched, but stops to kick at my wardrobe. “She’s nothing! You are to forget about her and never speak of her again! If you so much as _breathe_ her name, I will find out and I will have her hanged for the entire kingdom to see. She’s nothing but a lowlife that’s corrupted you and you are never – I repeat – _never_ to see her again!”

“No one has poisoned _or_ corrupted me!” My heart’s racing, striking against my ribcage harder than a battering ram and my mind’s gone, clouded with blind fury. I can’t stop myself from screaming. I can’t stop myself from defending him. I can’t hold my tongue. I can’t slow my breath. “This is my own choice!”

I’ve lost control of my entire body.

“Then you will rot in hell with the witch that has made you this way!”

“I love him!”

Silence. Nothing but the regret of my eruption fills the room and it’s deafening. Those three, simple words echo around the chamber and bound off the walls over and over again, ringing in my ears to remind me just how stupid I am. They scream at me so loudly that I have to suck in a quick breath to keep myself from collapsing and I sink to the floor, tears finally streaming down my cheeks in realisation of my mistake. I cup my hand over my mouth as I begin to sob, my eyes far away from my father’s empowering, brute figure and staring into nothing but remorse.

I couldn’t help it. My tongue was moving on its own command, pushing out words that I shouldn’t have and now my carelessness has come crashing down on me. It consumes me in the silence, yet I can still feel the fire of my father’s eyes enveloping me.

“’Him’?” he hisses. “ _Him_?!”

I don’t say a word when he tears towards me and grabs my tunic by the collar, dragging me upwards to face him. I don’t even struggle.

“I didn’t take you in just so you’d grow up to become _queer_.” The way he says that last word with such malice and repugnance makes me sick. _He_ makes me sick. The very sight of him makes bile rise to the back of my throat and I’d give anything to escape from his hold. “I’m just glad you’re not my son.” He pushes me against the wall, leaving me speechless as he turns to leave.

“What?” I whimper, taking a single step towards him before he lashes around again, scowling at me with those beady eyes of his.

“You heard me.”

That makes no sense. I’ve called him father for nineteen years and he’s never said anything like that before. He’s never even hinted at it. So… it can’t be true. It’s a lie. It’s only to make me feel like I’m nothing.

“B-but of course I’m your son,” I stammer with a half-panicked laugh. He’s probably only saying that because he’s sickened by me. It’s nothing. It’s a mere form of expression.

He scoffs, shaking his head with a half-smile creeping across his face. The way he looks at me is almost sinister, like he’s been waiting for this moment for years. “You’re not,” he says bluntly. “You never were.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I laugh, worry creeping up my throat. “You’re only saying that to make me feel—“

“Do I look like I’m lying, boy?” he snaps, striding towards me again. He comes within a mere fraction from me and his eyes bore into mine like great, endless chasms, filled only with the hatred and disgust he has for me. “Look at me and tell me what colour my eyes are.”

Despite the odd request, I look at him with as much sincerity as I can, staring right into his deadened, cerulean eyes. “They’re blue.”

“What colour were your mother’s?”

“Blue.”

“And yours are…?”

“… Brown.” It doesn’t even come out as a spoken word. The realisation droops from my lips like a breath of air, stained with the lies that I’ve been fed all my life by everyone around me. It’s devastating – knowing that the ones you thought loved you have lied to your face for so long. My own mother… She sat there and did nothing as I called the monster in front of me _father,_ whilst I had no clue of where my _real_ father was.

Who is my real father, then?

My father – no – the _king_ begins to saunter away from me, proud of the expression of wreckage he’s etched into my face with the guff he’s thrown at me. I can see the way he smirks at me as he sits himself down on my bed, ready to answer any questions I have about where I really came from. And he’s more than happy to oblige. The more he convinces me that I’m not his son, the better he feels about himself, knowing that he didn’t bring a disappointment into this world.

That’s what he’s always done. He takes pleasure in blaming others for his misfortunes.

“Brown eyes,” he marvels. “They’re your father’s – plain, brown and disappointing, just like you.”

It’s still a little too hard to speak. I have to take a moment just to breathe – to sort out my head. All I need is a moment to realise that both my parents are no longer here to support me and I’ve been placed in the care of _him_ instead. _Why?_

“Why?”

“Why what?” he frowns.

My mouth opens a fraction to speak, but no words come out. From being unable to speak and getting myself into this mess to becoming speechless comes as a shock to my system, and I fall back against the wall, my head still reeling from an emptiness I’ve never felt before.

Now beginning to realise that I’m nowhere near able to produce coherent sentences, my replacement father speaks, dictating my life story to me as if I never even lived it.

“His name was Demitri Young,” he begins. My heart sinks a little as the word “was” is mentioned. I can already tell that this isn’t going to end the way I hoped. “He was a knight – not a very good one, but still… he fought well in every battle I sent him in to and somehow managed to come out alive. I always hoped the troop I sent out would come back with him missing… But alas, there he was every single time, standing there with his damn freckles and stupid grin like he was actually proud of himself.” He huffs, shaking his head as he relives the memory of my father, whereas I stand alone, unable to even recall what he looked like. “You’re the spitting image of him,” he sneers, “freckles and all. I always despised those damn things, but your mother found them and _him_ endearing for reasons known beyond me.”

Without even knowing who this man is, I somehow get overcome with the want to defend him. I don’t know what with. I have no knowledge of him to even protest against my father’s – no – the king’s words. For all I know, my father _could_ have been this disappointment that’s being described. Yet that final glimmer of hope within me thinks otherwise.

I can already tell what’s coming next. It became obvious from the moment the king began mocking my father’s name like he was a waste of space – similar to how he thinks of me now that this has all come out after so long.

“She had an affair, didn’t she?” I murmur, keeping my eyes low and my sentences short. “M-my mother had an affair with Demitri.”

The king sighs, choosing his next words carefully. “Technically speaking, yes,” he says. “But she did it for my benefit.”

I can’t help but scoff at the absurdity of that statement. “How could something like that be beneficial to you?”

“Because I can’t have children.”

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I hear a slight waver in his voice. It’s miniscule. It would be unnoticeable to someone who never knew him. But I have. And there it is – a sense of disappointment in himself that he would never admit to, but throws it over others instead like he always has and will continue to do so. It really does go to show how blind he truly is.

But his face stays calm and collected as he continues his speech and I’m too intrigued to look away this time. The temptation and malicious desire to hear him falter again keeps me staring, taking note of every expression he makes whilst talking about Demitri Young… my father.

He doesn’t look at me once as he gets up, sauntering towards the window and looking out mournfully as if I should actually _pity_ him. The look on his face suggests to me that he’s wandered into a well of self-pity and I don’t plan on getting him out of it.

“We’d been trying for an heir for years, but nothing ever happened,” he growls. “We were desperate. Do you have any idea what happens if a king doesn’t produce a male heir?” I don’t answer. There’s no need. I’ve had lecture upon lecture about how important it would be for me when I become king to have a son. “I would have been ridiculed,” he hisses. Hands grip the windowsill harder as he falls deeper into his own little world. I don’t even think he realises that this is _me_ he’s telling this to – the replacement son he just deemed a disgrace and a disappointment only a few moments ago.

Slowly, I back away from him, retreating to the bed in case he decides to lash out for a second time. I can see the anger swelling in his eyes all over again – a look I’ve seen too many times throughout my life for my liking.

“I knew the whole time,” he laughs bitterly. “I knew what she was doing. She pitied me so she got someone else to give her a child and allowed me to take the credit for everything.” The light shining in from behind him makes him look all the more sinister as he turns to face me with a cruel glint in his eyes, full of spite and detest. “And then _you_ happened,” he spits. “You were believed to be a miracle. Wherever you went people praised your existence. Erwin even suggested employing a _vampire_ to protect you!” He doesn’t even stop to check if I’m reacting to the vampire comment. He’s too far gone to even realise what he’s saying. “I despised you from the moment I laid eyes on you and saw that yours were brown like _his_ and not blue like they should have been. You looked like him even as a baby and he even had the _cheek_ to deny that you were his.”

Clenching his hands into claws, the king begins to storm back and forth like he’s trapped in an invisible room. The walls of his embitterment crowd him to the point where he’s biting his lip so hard that it becomes red and swollen.

I would stop him, but I want him to suffer. I _want_ him to relive his darkest moments of hatred for himself so he knows how it _truly_ feels to be a walking humiliation. I want him to feel as I do now –an empty, unwanted shell filled with mistakes and regret.

Seeing him slowly lose touch with himself actually makes me feel… good. It’s the revenge I’ve wanted to take out on him for all the atrocities he’s committed not only against me, but his people too.  He deserves every second of it.

“I saw the way he fawned over you like you were something special. He knew as well as I did that you were his – that you were his _bastard_ ,” he laments. “Yet I never said anything about it. I took you in out of the kindness of my heart—“ Or the desperation to have a son “—and took care of you. I gave you a home when I could have easily killed you. I gave you protection when I could have left you outside to _rot_. You’d be _dead_ if it wasn’t for me, boy, so don’t you _ever_ undermine me again.”

Those words have no effect on me. They mean nothing to me anymore. Having seen the extremes of the king’s anger and surviving it, still managing to keep Jean out of it, I no longer care. His threats mean nothing to me. He’s _no one_ to me.

What he does to me after this no longer matters. I can survive his wrath and come out of it with a stronger hold over myself and the courage to speak up to him. And Jean’s still safe.

“Where is he?” I ask, finally able to gather the courage to speak. “Where is my father now?”

Coming to an abrupt halt, the king stares out into nothing, his eyes blown out in their sockets. He shakes his head, grinding his teeth together, and then looks at me. “Dead.”

The cold pierces through my chest like an arrow and I let go a shaken breath, gripping the sheets as if they’ll give me support. I never even knew him or saw his face, yet the overwhelming grief that flows over me makes me feel weak. I can barely speak, yet I should have guessed that it would have ended like that.

“I paid another knight to kill him on the battlefield whilst fighting the enemy,” he says blankly, showing no remorse or emotion towards what he did. “Every day since, I’ve smiled each time a troop has come back from battle and he’s not there grinning. But then I’m faced with you every day instead. You even sound like him... I’m just glad you’re not mine.”

Every bone in my body is rendered weak and lifeless as he sweeps past me towards the door, finally taking his leave and relieving me from any more misery he has to force down my throat. I don’t even look at him as he opens the door. I just keep staring out through the open window and pray to see Jean clamber through at any moment to comfort me.

“Pack your belongings,” he snaps. “We leave for Jinae tomorrow night.”

 

* * *

 

Night falls. And the moonlight filters in through the window over the horizon of my windowsill, illuminating the dread of the approaching day. It’ll be the day that I leave Trost for good… and Jean. All because I actually thought that I’d get away with this forever. I should have accepted Jean’s request each time he begged me to leave with him. We could be in Stohess by now, sitting by the lake side by side with my hand in his.

It’s almost stupid to think that the only thing that kept us here is the Darkness himself. And we still haven’t seen him yet. Maybe we never will. I hope we don’t. I’d kill him on the spot for what he’s done to Jean for all these months.

What if he’s having a breakdown now and I’m not there? What if he’s all alone wherever he may be and screaming at the voices in his head and _I’m not there_?

I won’t _ever_ be there again.

I didn’t even say goodbye. I couldn’t even tell him that I love him and that I always will. I’m just leaving without a warning, never to see him again or even _breathe_ his name.

“Jean,” I exhale, taking in the sweetness of the sound on my tongue. “Jean, Jean, Jean. Jean Kirscht—“ I break myself off with a choked sob, but tears don’t come like they usually do. I’ve wept ever since that monster I’ve called my father for all my life left my room and now I’m spent. I’m too exhausted to even move.

Running footsteps come bombarding down the corridor towards my room. There’s a whole group of them, all whispering to each other in hushed tones and coded words, getting louder as they approach me.

Curious, I sit up on the mattress and stare at the shadowed door, waiting for the handle to move and for someone to walk in. My first thought is that it’s the king again coming back for a second round of screaming. But I hear a woman’s voice, calm, cool and warmly familiar.

So when the door opens and Petra hurries in, I breathe a sigh of relief but still wonder what she’s doing here. She’s quickly followed by Levi and Bertholdt, both wearing a veil of concern over their features as they scan the room, almost as if they’re looking for something.

“Marco,” Petra whispers, “we need to get you out of here.”

My mouth falls agape for a moment as I take in my surroundings whilst Levi walks towards the door again, keeping watch for any guards who may decide to randomly check up on me. “I-I don’t understand,” I stammer. “What’s happened?”

Petra nods at Bertholdt to signal him to speak. He stops fiddling with his fingers immediately and steps towards me, still wary despite the cover of dark. “The public know,” he murmurs. “They know about the scandal and word’s spreading fast. It’ll reach Jinae within a few days.”

“W-what? How?”

“Hurry up,” Levi snaps, peering outside again.

Bertholdt returns his attention to me with a shiver and continues to speak. “I-I don’t know but Levi fears that Pastor Nick’s involved. He probably overheard you and your father—“

“That’s not a fear, Bertholdt,” Levi mutters, “that’s what happened. The entire castle heard your row with the king.”

Tension makes my shoulders hunch in fear when I think about all those people listening in on what happened earlier… any one of them could have said something. But since Pastor Nick is the only person actually allowed to leave the castle freely under Erwin’s orders, my guess is that it was him.

With a quivering lip from his nervousness, Bertholdt becomes unable to speak and doesn’t finish his sentence. They all know that they’d be executed if they were found here.

Petra decides to intervene and Bertholdt stands quietly on the side lines, looking frantically out the window, then back to Levi again in worry.

“Marco, the people of Jinae aren’t as open minded as those of Trost. We don’t think that they’ll take the news of the scandal very well since you’re going to become king soon,” she sighs, looking to Levi for some help. She’s never been good at getting bad news across.

Sighing, Levi storms over and grabs me by the shoulders, staring directly into my eyes with a blank, stony expression which sends chills through me. This can’t be good. “If you go back to Jinae it is very likely that you will be assassinated. Since being with a man is illegal and you are, the public aren’t going to like that very much.” Even though I flinch after he finishes, Levi makes the thought even worse by deepening the wound the king’s already made from earlier. “Also, do you really think the king will stop anyone from killing you if he found out? Especially in light of recent events, Marco, your life is in danger and since I’m the one who’s meant to protect you, I don’t want you going back to Jinae.”

“Neither do I,” a strained, new voice wheezes.

Levi’s grip on me falters as I glance over my shoulder in time to see a body fall over the windowsill and into the room with the help of Bertholdt. He straightens himself up, thanking his aid as he takes off the hood shadowing his features from view. As the veil falls, my chest pounds in an instant and I run over to the figure, throwing my arms around his neck and holding him close.

It’s Jean. It’s my Jean.

This time, tears do fall. They cascade over my cheeks as he holds me to his chest, running his leather-clad fingers through my hair. Being with him again only reminds me of how much I’ve truly missed his touch and the way he breathes into my skin like he’ll never let me go. Just hearing his voice again makes my heart feel weak and my head giddy. And now all these feelings and emotions are rushing back to me all and once and I’m overwhelmed by it all. I don’t want to leave the comfort of his arms ever again.

“I missed you,” I whimper, clinging onto him a little tighter.

A light kiss is pressed against my forehead and he nuzzles my neck, kissing the skin there as well as he slowly reclaims the skin he’s craved. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

“How did you even find out what happened?” I ask, tracing my thumb over his cheek.

Jean looks at Levi with a grateful smile and then looks to me again. It’s the only answer I need or want and he follows it by kissing my lightly.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Levi grumbles, “you’re both very happy to see each other, I get it, but can you save all that for when you’re actually safe and out of the kingdom?”

Reluctantly, I remove myself from Jean’s hold and stare at the other three who have changed my life so greatly. Petra looks at me as if she’s about to cry, glancing away for a moment to compose herself before turning back again after wiping her eyes.

And then I realise.

“You’re staying here, aren’t you?”

They all nod. “And we don’t want to know where you’re going,” Levi says bluntly. “It’s for your own safety.”

“So is this…” I trail off as they nod again, a more solemn expression taking over their features.

No longer caring about composure, Petra begins to cry. Without thinking, I rush over to her and embrace her tightly, letting her sob into my shoulder. A part of me doesn’t want to leave her behind. I don’t want to leave _any_ of them behind.

But I have to.

As Jean looks on, Bertholdt and I smile at one another with all the secrets we’ve ever told one another set deep within our eyes like rocks at the bottom of the ocean, never to be found. In that moment, we make a silent agreement to take those secrets to the grave, no matter how long that may be. And I thank him. I thank him for all he’s done for me since the day I met him – all within a single look.

Then I turn to Levi and I stutter a little. I don’t know how to say goodbye to him without getting grumbled at. So I say goodbye the best way I know how: I wrap my arms around his neck and thank him. For everything.

“You’re the best father anyone could ever ask for,” I whisper, choking back a few tears. “I mean it.”

Usually, I’d expect some kind of sarcastic remark from him, but instead I feel a flat, comforting palm on my back, completing the embrace that both of us have needed for a long time.

It doesn’t last though. Levi breaks us apart before he gets too attached and I step aside to see Petra holding my armour and weapons in her arms with a pained expression on her face.

“Put your armour on,” Levi rushes, “and run. Get out of Trost and never come back, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Jean and I nod in unison.

Before it all becomes too hard to leave behind and end, Levi finishes our time together with a curt nod and leads Petra and Bertholdt out, both of them with their heads low and their eyes glassy.

The last I’ll ever hear of them is the rushing, hustled footsteps that slowly fade into nothing as they run back down the stairs and to their own chambers before the sun rises. The silence that’s left behind chokes me, squeezing around my neck like a noose and the only comfort comes from Jean’s hand on my shoulder. And when I look into his eyes, all I see is Stohess and the promise of eternity he whispers to me in every waking hour.

 

* * *

 

Once clad in black, Jean and I escape the stone prison through the window and out from under the hole in the wall. The very moment we start running towards the city, chaos erupts within the castle. Candlelight bursts within every window. Shouts boom around every corner. The clanging of metal rushes through the halls.

“The prince is missing! He’s escaped!”

We keep running, masking the panicked voices with our frozen breath as we speed towards eternity, with Jean dragging me behind him by my hand, promising me that he’ll never let go again.

The city’s looming in the horizon, getting closer as our feet trample over the undergrowth.

We’re so close. We’re so near. We only need to go a little bit further.

So that’s all we do.

We run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately the updates after this one will probably be quite delayed because not only am I preparing for exams, but I've also started my second project 'Four The Living' which you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323189/chapters/7263275). So sorry about that!
> 
> Next chapter: Who the hell is the Darkness?
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	13. The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it: we're finally at the chapter where we find out who The Darkness is wahoo! Hopefully this will calm down all the anons who have been debating over the identity of Mr Bad Guy on my [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) recently.  
> But before we start, of course, there are some lovely people who have made lovely fanart for me that I need to say thank you to. So thank you to my bae, [squirrelseatpizza](http://squirrelseatpizza.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/113013569129/if-i-could-be-with-you-tonight-i-would-sing-you-to) lovely drawing of Marco! Also, I'd like to thank [spain-love04](http://spain-love04.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/113793592779/spain-love04-slowly-i-approach-him-with) drawing from Chapter 8! Thank you so much!  
> There is something else that I'd like to say about this chapter before you start reading. Please, please, please be mindful of spoilers once you've finished reading because I know that not everyone is up to date yet and I don't want to spoil anything for them. So if you do want to say anything to me once you've read the chapter, then please do I'd be glad to hear it, but just be wary of what you say. That would be a huge help to me, so thank you in advance!
> 
> A'ight, so warnings: blood, violence and sad business.
> 
> Enjoy!

Grinding, grating, piercing footsteps clatter behind us. The sound throbs in my head as we run through the towering buildings around us, caging us in this forgotten, broken city as we attempt to claw our way out of this godforsaken place. The thumping in my chest only makes the houses feel as if they’re sky high, leering down at us as we flee for our lives and our freedom.

And then there’s the shadows slinking around us in the cracks in the walls and every rushed breath of air that leaves our lungs. They’ll follow us to the edge of the city. But that’s where they’ll stay… I hope. They know better than to travel into the realm of black that’s too dark even for them. But they scream at me anyway, tearing at my thoughts as we run through the night.

But I can hear them coming. It sounds as if a whole army’s been sent out to find us and I can hear their voices travel through the breeze, taunting me as I sprint through them with Marco just behind me, still clinging onto me like his life depends on it.

I suppose it does. If I let go of him I could lose him again and I swore to myself that I’d never let that happen again. So I hold his hand tighter and pull him a little faster through the alleyways of emptiness, not glancing once into my reflection illuminated by the cold moonlight on the windows we pass. I don’t want to take the chance of looking and then seeing something that’s not me staring back. It’s happened too many times over the last few days. I’m beginning to think that maybe Mike was right. Maybe it _will_ consume me.

“Check the alleyways!”

“Jean!” Marco whispers harsh enough to stop me in my tracks. He pulls me back into the shadows with a quick yank on my arm and holds me close as the sound of metal clangs past us, pausing for a moment just outside our hiding place.

My hand grips the hilt of my sword, ready to use if anyone we don’t recognise shows their face. I can feel Marco’s heartbeat reach heights it’s never experienced before as the knight glances around the street, scanning for any specimens of life. A rat scurries across the cobbles but not much else. Then he huffs, turning back and shouting out, “There’s no one down here! Maybe they reached the border.”

I expect to hear another clang of metal approach – maybe another knight. But I don’t. It’s just normal, clumpy footsteps coming towards us, echoing through the emptiness around us until a shadow begins to form.

Marco clutches his bow to his chest and draws the two of us further into the black as a short, plump man with a scowl etched into his face comes into view. “No,” he snaps. “They wouldn’t have reached the border by now. They’re still in the city. Keep looking.”

The knight nods, turning back down the way he came from. But the little man stays, staring straight into the dark where we are. His beady eyes examine every crack in the walls and every speck on the ground yet he doesn’t see us. He doesn’t even hear my panicked breath or the sound of my heart practically jumping out of my chest. And without another word, he goes, leaving us behind and utterly shaken.

“Who the fuck was that?” I hiss, recalling the unfamiliar face of the short little man with eyes like a snake's.

“Reeves,” Marco says, loosening the grip on his bow as he relaxes. “He's the king's chief adviser. He must've tagged along when the king came to see me.”

“Is that bad?”

“Probably. He's the reason so many executions take place in Jinae.”

Chills run down my spine and I rest against the wall to stop the sensation from reaching other parts of my body, my sword clanging against the brick as I take a breather. I’ve got to stay focussed if we have any chance of escaping. “Then we need to be more careful,” I whisper, running my thumb over Marco’s clenched hand around mine. “We need to get off the streets.”

“Where would we go?” he shakes. “There’s _nowhere_ , Jean. If you’re thinking about going back to the shop, then—“

“No,” I interrupt. “No they’ve probably searched your room by now. They probably know that it’s me you’ve been seeing.”

“Then _where_ do we go?”

That’s the thing. There isn’t anywhere. We can’t get through the woods safely without going down the path. But that’s probably been guarded by now and we’ll just walk into a death trap. There’s no other way out of Trost unless we go directly through the forest itself. The only safe way through the forest is through the In Between. It’s a long shot, but it’s our only chance. That’s if we even get there in the first place. The king’s probably sent out all of his guards to search for Marco, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Levi and Petra were with them to keep up appearances.

With the guards searching each street and our only way out of here blocked, there isn’t much we can do. There isn’t even anywhere we can hide until…

“Eren.”

“What?” Marco frowns.

“Eren lives nearby. We can stay at his until there’s a clear path for us to get out.” My breath returning to normal at my proposal, I grab Marco’s hand again and begin to pull him away from the wall. But his worry has made him stiffen until it’s almost as if he’s frozen to the wall.

“Jean,” he murmurs, “do you really want to be troubling Eren after what happened?”

I can feel my heart sink in my chest and diminish into nothing as I remember the look on Eren's face when we left him with Hannes. I haven't seen him since or even apologised properly to him. There wasn't anything I _could_ say. “I'm sorry I got your legs broken so you can no longer walk.” That sounds about right.

“I'm not saying that he wouldn't want to see you,” Marco stammers, noticing the way my face visibly falls, “I-I'm just saying that maybe he'd want some space o-or—”

“Marco,” I sigh, “I know he'll hate it – I wouldn't be surprised if he kicked us out the moment he saw us – but we're _leaving_. I can't go without saying goodbye.” I huff, retaking his hand in mine and leading him away again. “Besides, I'll need someone to look after Gumbie whilst we're gone.”

We start running again, checking over our shoulders each time our hearts skip a beat to an unfamiliar rustling coming from around each corner. Neither of us know what's around each corner and it terrifies both of us. The trembling hand holding mine only confirms my thoughts.

The only good thing about living in Trost for all this time is that I know these dark alleyways and dingy streets like the back of my hand. Marco and I can slip through empty gateways and narrow cracks without even giving the guards that are after us a single glimpse of our skin. Our breath may be heavy and our legs ache, but the hope of Stohess is within our reach... as long as we make it out of this maze of streets alive.

“Why don't you just ask him to come with us?” Marco whispers as I pull him back into the confines of the shadows, a clatter of footsteps drawing near. “We owe him, Jean. Don't you think he'd be happier in Stohess? We could take him with us.”

“But he can't walk, Marco. How are we supposed to get him out of here whilst running for our own lives?”

As the footsteps pass us with only a few murmurs about the prince's whereabouts, Marco stops and thinks for a moment. He looks on into the street before us and stares sadly at Eren's front door. There’s nothing but black seeping from the windowpanes. There isn't a single candle lit in the house. He's probably asleep. If he is, then I don't want to disturb him. We shouldn't have come. It was a bad idea. It...

Without warning, Marco walks out into the street. He doesn't even look around him to check on his surroundings. I try to call him back as quietly as I can, but he ignores me, walking out of sight around the side of Eren’s house, grinning back at me.

Gritting my teeth, I go after him, following to the side of the house, where I find Marco staring upwards. I follow his line of sight and gaze up at Eren's open bedroom window.

“If he can't come with us now,” he smiles, “then we'll come back for him when the time is right. We owe him that much.”

The way he looks at me with that empty smile of his makes my entire body shudder. I know he's right. I don't even understand why I'm making excuses for myself. We – no, _I_ – owe Eren. I'm the one who made him this way, so I should be the one to make it better. Even if I have to wait, I will make it better.

With a curt nod and another glance over my shoulder, Marco crouches down and links his hands together tightly so they don't break apart. Quick as to not get caught, I place my foot in the hold he's created for me and I hoist myself upwards, grabbing onto the frame of the kitchen window. A strong push elevates me higher and I secure my place on the wall, a far way off the ground.

Worry creeping over me, I look back at Marco as he stands alone in the street, frantically twisting his head around as the sound of voices filters through the crevices of the streets.

“Go,” he orders, “I'll meet you up there.”

My hands grip the frame harder as the voices draw closer. “You go first. You're the one they're after and if they see you—”

I'm cut off by him pushing me up the wall even more. In hopes not to fall, I grab onto an odd brick jutting out of its place. My feet fumble after me I climb even higher, leaving Marco behind me. Even though the voices seem to fade, I don't want him to be out in the open for too long. If someone sees him then this is all over. I can't let him return to Jinae.

“Hurry up,” he whispers. “The longer you take, the longer I stay out here.”

This only spurs my motivation more and I cling onto the bricks for dear life, climbing further upwards until I finally reach the open window of what I believe is Eren's bedroom. Or at least that's where I remember it being.

Grappling my feet upwards along with the rest of my body, I heave myself over the barrier of the windowsill and fall into the bedroom, knocking something off a shelf with me as I go. Whatever I hit on my way down crashes to the floor with a sound that could wake the entire fucking city and the body in the bed in front of me stirs.

A tuft of brunet hair pokes out from under the white sheets that I remember sleeping in all too well and Eren's upper half comes into view, his tanned skin glowing in the pale moonlight as if it's never been scarred. Still half asleep and not quite functioning, a snorting pig-like sound erupts from his nose as he drearily looks around his room. At first his eyes pass over me as if I were nothing but a shadow, but when I laugh at the tangle of cowlicks that has become his mop of hair, his eyes sharpen on me, a sniggering heap on the floor that's magically found its way into his bedroom.

“Jean?” he drones. “What are you doing here?”

Before I can answer another heap falls through the open window and lands beside me, thankfully not knocking anything else over. With a groan, Marco sits up and stares at the dumbfounded Eren in his bed, gaping at us with his mouth wide open and his eyes blown out.

“If you keep your mouth open any longer you're going to catch a fly,” I grumble, heaving both myself and Marco up off the floor. To that, Eren promptly shuts his mouth but continues to stare at us as if we were ghosts.

“What are you _doing_ here?” he frowns as I glance out the window a final time before closing it. “Not that I'm not happy to see you or anything, it's just that—“

“We need your help,” Marco says. With the utmost caution, he sits himself on the bed beside Eren and gazes at him with pleading eyes. “ _I_ need your help, Eren. We just need to stay here for a little while and keep out of sight until... u-until—”

“Until the streets are clear and we can leave,” I cut in, storming over to the chair in the corner of the room as far away from the two of them as possible.

Eren's jaw drops and he gawks at me with a rushed intake of breath. “You're leaving?”

Marco nods sadly. “We have to. Both of us would be in danger if we stayed. I'd have to go back to Jinae and Jean would be found and killed.”

“They found out, didn't they?”

“They did, yes.”

The feeling of Eren's eyes on me makes my skin prick and I look away instantly, shying my eyes away from his in hopes to make this a little easier. I know that we're going to ask him to come with us, but we'll still have to leave him behind for a while until things clear up.

But what if they don't? What if we can _never_ come back for him? What if we don't even make it to Stohess in the first place? This promise that Marco's about to announce would all be for nothing and I'd have to live with the guilt of him believing that maybe it was _him_ and that's why we couldn't take him with us.

It's stupid anyway. “Don't worry, Eren. We're leaving but we'll come back for you once there isn't a threat of us dying the moment we enter the city _.”_ It sounds so promising, doesn't it?

I just don't think I can endure the feeling of leaving him behind with a promise that I don't even know if I can fulfil.

“Where are you going?” I hear Eren's ever-curious voice ask.

“Well we...” Marco begins, trailing off as he realises the threat he'd place on Eren's shoulders if he told him where we're going.

“We can't tell you,” I say bluntly, finally looking up at him.

“Why not?!” he scowls, lurching forwards and making Marco jump. “You can't just come in here telling me that you're leaving, only to tell me that I can't know where you're going.”

“It's _dangerous._ ”

“How?”

To stop me from screaming t him from frustration, I grip the sides of the chair and take in a deep breath to calm myself down. I wish he'd just trust my judgement and leave it at that without asking questions. It'd make life a lot easier. “If we tell you where we're going, they'll torture you until you tell them. I can't place that burden on you and I won't. If you want, we'll come back for you when this is all finished. You don't have to come with us but—”

“Are you actually asking me to come with you?” he breathes, shuffling around until he unwraps himself from the cocoon of sheets he's made around himself and hangs his lifeless legs over the side of the bed. I can already see where this is going and Marco prepares himself for what's to come. “Y-you really want me to—” As Eren tries to stand, yet again forgetting that he can no longer walk, his legs give out on him and he falls to the floor, quickly followed by Marco reaching down to help him up again.

Once he's sitting upright on the floor with his legs spread out in front of him, limp like string, Eren brushes himself off and thanks Marco for his help. He does that a lot at the moment.

“We want you to come with us,” Marco smiles, sliding off the bed so he's on the same level as Eren and sits in front of him, grinning from ear to ear at Eren's stupefied expression. “W-we can't take you right this moment... uh... because...”

“Because you can't walk,” I deadpan. “We need to get out of here as quickly as we can if we don't want to have our guts turned to garters. And if we take you with us, we'll have to carry you. It'll slow us down and I don't think that'll do wonders for your dignity.”

Marco turns to me with thin eyes and a harsh scowl the moment I stop talking. “You could have said that a bit nicer.”

“No he's right,” Eren laughs, blanking my sudden change in tone towards him and only focussing on Marco. “I'd be pretty useless to the two of you if speed is what you want in order to get out of here.”

The way Eren looks at me after that last twinge of disappointment I feel radiating off him is enough to make me want to jump out the window and run as far away as I can. It's not like I _want_ to leave him behind for the time being. All I want to do is keep him safe. Yet why don't I have the guts to tell him?

I guess some feelings should stay mysteries, after all.

Wrapping an arm around Eren's shoulders, Marco grins at him, clearly dreaming of all of us somewhere other than here where we're no longer bothered by the pains of our past, and where we can only look towards the future. But I'm slowly beginning to realise that maybe it's not that simple. It's just the part where Marco and I arrive in Stohess unharmed that's bothering me. It can't be that simple.

As Marco begins to tell Eren about his dreams of somewhere else, I try and think of a way out of here before morning comes and Hannes walks in to find both of us here. He despises us anyway for being the reason that his nephew's legs are broken, so I don't want to make anything worse since I'm also going to be taking said nephew away soon.

With the sound of hushed, zealous chatter bubbling behind me, I rise from my seat and walk over to the window. My hands grip the windowsill and I stare out into the unforgiving night, searching for our path out of Trost that doesn't get us killed.

The guards shouldn't be around for much longer. They've checked the majority of the streets and if we were out there running, we'd be long gone by now. But we're not. We're hiding out like lowlife criminals, possibly putting our own friend in danger just by being near him. I would stay here for a little longer, but the blood in my body is beginning to boil at the thought of being captured and Eren getting caught in the middle of it just because we were careless.

And then I hear them. Guards – a lot of them, all conversing together probably only a few streets away from here. It's as if they don't even care if they're heard. But to get a better listen, I slowly creak open the window, poking my head out through the space and search for the source of the sound.

“... and we’ll conduct house to house searches!”

“Fuck,” I hiss, slamming the window closed before I hear any more and I turn to Marco with a surge of panic coursing through my body. He jumps at the sound and he and Eren fall silent, staring at me with rigid shoulders and rushed breath. “We need to leave. Now.”

Marco gets up instantly, helping Eren back onto the bed as gently as he can. “Why? What's happened?” he asks.

“They're starting house searches,” I rush, clenching my fists over and over again to relieve the tension building up in my core. “They'll find us if we don't move and...” I look over to Eren, sitting comfortably on his bed as innocent as a child “... and I can't let Eren get caught up in this any more than he is. We have to go.”

Marco nods, somehow staying calm in our given circumstances and embraces Eren a final time, lingering in his hold for a little too long, realising the same fear that I hold – the fear of not returning.

“Start running,” I tell him. “Run down the back alleys until you get to the edge of the forest and wait for me there. I'll catch up when I can.”

On hearing this, Marco is released from Eren's hold and he stares at me aghast, releasing all the air in his lungs. “We're going through the forest?”

“Can you think of any other way out of here? The only safe path out of Trost will have been blocked by now and it will only lead us to Jinae which is in the complete opposite direction to where we want to go,” I grumble, moving him along towards the window as I speak. “We’ll travel through the forest and pass through the In Between to gives us a little more security. It’s our only way out.”

By the time we reach the window, I can see the moon reflecting in Marco's eyes over a clear sheet of water forming over them. His trembling hand grasps my shoulder as I help him out of the room and before he disappears out of sight, he smiles at Eren one more time. Wearing the same eyes as Marco, Eren smiles back, waving his hand gravely as Marco climbs down the wall and into the street, vanishing from both our lines of sight.

Then it's just Eren and me left and the unbearable deformation between us makes this all the more difficult.

I turn to leave without even saying a word to him, hoping it'll make things easier, but he catches me in my stride, calling out my name in a cracked, shattered choke that feels like a kick to the head. “Promise me something,” he whimpers, his fears, probably worse than mine, taking over. “Please don't die. I don't care if you don't come back for me. I don't need this like you and Marco do but... but just make sure you stay alive. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you... t-to _either_ of you.”

Whatever takes over me in the next brief moment allows my true feelings about this entire situation show. I rush over across the room, back to Eren and embrace him in my arms, placing a terrified kiss on his forehead, no longer caring about keeping my shakes and trembles to a minimum. “Nothing's going to happen to me, Eren,” I try to convince both of us. “Nothing's going to happen and I'll come back. I'll come back and I'll get you. I'll carry you all the way to Stohess if I have to. I will never leave you behind again, I promise.”

“I believe you, Jean.”

And then it all becomes too real for me to bear. I quiver in his arms from pure fear that maybe I _won't_ come back after this. This could be the last time I ever see Eren again or this city and I'm _scared_. I'm so scared and I don't want to let this all go to shit because of me.

I stay in his arms for as long as I can, bathing in the feeling of his comfort again for what could be the last time, until fear crawls over my skin and I flinch away, running back to the window before it becomes too hard to leave him behind.

“Jean,” he says. The sound of his voice makes my head snap back towards him, even though I don't want to and a darker, more serious expression washes over his features. “ _Save Marco_.”

“You say that a lot,” I mumble. “What does it even mean?”

“I'm not sure,” he shrugs, dismissing his words with a hollow laugh. “I just felt as if I needed to say it.”

I nod, tightening my hold on the windowsill and smile back at him with one final request. “Will you look after Gumbie whilst I’m gone? I don’t really want to trust anyone else with him.”

“Of course I will,” he smiles emptily. “I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

Before either of us make things harder, I leave through the window, soon landing back onto the street with the tops of the trees in my sight and the feeling of Marco near. Scraping claws on my shoulders tell me to stay and not leave all of this behind, but the fear of losing it too amounts to so much more.

If I leave, I’ll lose everything but live. If I stay, I’ll lose everything and die.

And so I run, my feet echoing over the cobbles as I sprint for my freedom, reaching out for Marco's hold again before I lose touch with myself. The claws scratching at my skin seem to lose their painful hold on me as I run, swallowing my fear whole as pure drive to get away as fast as I can fuels my body.

Wind slaps against my skin as I dash through the empty streets and dingy alleyways that have never seen life, avoiding the gruff voices of those that only wish me ill and draw nearer to the calling of the shadows. Their cool tendrils of nothingness pull me towards them like chains dragging me back into my prison, yet despite the grim reality they hold, I follow them. Wherever the shadows are, that's where Marco will be and I can feel him waiting, worried and panicking.

I need to hurry.

“There he is!” someone shouts from a distance. “It's the witch!”

Adrenaline bursts in my veins and I race for my life as more paced echoes form behind me, chasing me through the narrow pathways and mazes of this vindictive place. I don't look back once as the buildings disperse and the looming shadow of the trees comes into its full, daunting view. And then I see Marco. He's shouting at me, screaming for me to run and he begins to fade into shadow.

My legs carry me across the grasslands faster than the wind itself and I reach out for Marco's hand clasping it in my own as he drags me into the false safety of the trees. The wall of black envelopes us, masking our presence from the guards as they falter to a stop at the edge of the shadow, frantically darting their heads around as they search for us, but to no avail.

I pull Marco further into the black so the last specks of moonlight leave our skin and we fall back against a tree. A crack of wood from the other side of the blackening barrier makes us jump and we become rigid against the trunk, squeezing the blood from our hands as we hold onto one another in fear as we listen in to the voices.

“We can't go in there,” a guard huffs. “They're as good as dead anyway. Just leave them.”

“No,” a familiar, harsher voice snaps. “The prince cannot die. We go in after them.”

The grip on me tightens and my first instinct is to run even further into the forest. But that would make noise and that's the last thing we want. Then I look upwards at the tree we're pressed up against.

A series of low branches that are easily reachable lie just above our heads and when I lift up my free arm, my hand latches onto the lowest branch with ease. So I start climbing and Marco quickly catches my drift and follows me, still listening in carefully to the conversation outside.

“B-but sir, the Forest of Tall Trees, i-it's... it's haunted,” a different guard pleads. “We'll die if we go in there.”

“What were the king's orders?” the harsher one snaps.

“To bring back Prince Marco.”

“Then why are you dithering about whilst you're allowing him and the witch to get away?”

Whilst they continue to argue, Marco and I safely secure ourselves in a cluster of branches a fair distance off the ground and hopefully out of sight if they do decide to enter the forest. We clutch one another as close as we can in the dark and Marco screws his eyes closed, dreading the coming moments.

“If none of you will go, then I will,” the bad-tempered one growls. “If any of you are coming with me, leave the horses out here. There's no use for them in the forest.”

Nails dig into my shoulder as movement occurs from the other side of the barrier. Branches shake as the eerie silence is disturbed by a lone man wandering into the midst of the black. At first, he's unrecognisable, but when Marco gasps at the slightest glimpse of his face, Levi's head snaps up to glare at us hiding in the branches.

But he doesn't say a word. He holds a single finger to his lips and nods slowly. We nod back, keeping a close eye on him as he signals his orders to us.

First, he points to himself, then moves his arm to his right. We nod. Then, he points to us and directs us in the other direction in complete silence. Marco nods his head vigorously to Levi's demands and sinks back into my hold again when Levi turns back towards the way he came in.

Before he shouts at the rest of his company, he glances back but looks directly towards me with a pleading look in his eyes. “Stay alive,” he mouths to me, even though he means that I need to stay alive in order to protect Marco. Then he calls the other troops, almost as if he's forgotten that we're here. “They're in the forest!” he shouts, evoking a deep howling to bellow through the trees. But he doesn't take any notice. “I can smell them, they've left a trail!”

Soon after Levi finishes his call to his troops and possibly a few beings they'd rather not encounter, the rest of the Elite Guard, including Petra, Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt, plus guards that are merely there for support, begin to file into the forest anxiously. They all gaze around their black surroundings in a panic as they walk in hopes to not come face-to-face with a horrifying creature. Levi doesn't count.

Reeves even joins them, storming up to Levi and scowling at him the moment he steps through the trees. No one even gives Marco and me a single look as we huddle closer together, watching as Reeves scolds Levi. “If they're apparently in here, then where are they?”

“I can smell them,” Levi says as he scans the forest floor. “They went that way.” He points in the complete opposite direction to where we're hiding and starts moving in that direction before anyone has a chance to challenge his judgement.

“You heard him,” Reeves announces. “Follow the King's dog, he knows what he's doing.”

Levi goes stiff and vile the moment Reeves mocks him and I can feel the entire company take in a sharp breath as they prepare for Levi's wrath.

Still looking out into the deep nothingness of the forest, Levi balls his fists and grits his teeth. “I'm not a dog, Reeves,” he rumbles. “I'm a vampire. Don't you  _dare_  compare me to something that licks its own asshole.”

Silence falls over the guards and even Reeves shuts up for a moment. At first, he seems horrified at Levi’s remark, then allows fear to crawl over him like spiders. Levi’s a vampire, after all. If he gets fed up with anyone he can turn them into sausage meat within a matter of seconds. Every human present understands this, so no more is said and the guards follow apprehensively behind Levi as he leads them deep into the trees, leaving Marco and me out of the way of  _one_  danger.

Although he can try as much as he wants, Levi can’t save us from the wisps of shadow that have begun to circle around the foot of the tree, waiting utterly still until we move. We’ll have to eventually. Pontianaks like to hide their souls in trees and if we don’t move soon, we’ll end up with one ripping our dicks off and feeding off our insides.

I think I’d rather walk through the shadows than face one of those things.

Once we’re sure that Levi and the rest of his troop have disappeared far enough in the trees for there to be a safe path, Marco and I climb down from our perch, trying not to let the same howling from before get to us. We have a reason to get out of here, the motivation and the adrenaline bursting through our veins, so we may as well run now whilst we still can.

Our feet become planted firmly into the ground when we jump down from the lowest branches and the wisps become tangled with my feet instantly, wrapping themselves around me like shackles and creeping over my skin. We need to move.

The promise of Stohess lies just beyond these trees. We’re so close. We can and will defeat anything that crosses our path. We can make it.

I look to Marco, hoping he’s experiencing the same thoughts as me and the willing demeanour of faith he’s beaming through the wide-eyed smile he gives me only confirms our thoughts.

Grabbing his hand, I step through the pool of black circling my feet and pull him into the darkness with me, only heading forwards, not looking back once. We trek through the gloom and grey with assurance weighing heavy on our hearts, ignoring the shadows that slink and slide behind us like our own personal stalker, dispersing each time Marco’s heartbeat quails and he glances over his shoulder. But we walk on anyway, reaching out and tasting Stohess on our fingertips as if we were already there.

Just beyond this mask of black is where our freedom lies. We just have to find our way through it.

But it’s easier said than done. The black seems to thicken the further we deepen into the realm of the unknown and it almost chokes me. I’ve never ventured this far into the forest before and I’m hearing roars and growls of creatures I’ve never encountered before. I can feel their beady eyes watching us tread through the undergrowth with an unnerving ease that makes me shiver, wondering why we’re not being attacked if we’re surrounded by so many creatures.

Marco can feel it too. At the mere whisper of a rumble he tightens his grip on me and glances frantically at his surroundings. But he can’t see anything. Neither of us can.

The agitation of _knowing_ that these things are out there is what makes our palms sweaty and our hearts race. Anything could attack us at any moment yet we’d have no idea as to where they would be since we can’t see a thing. But nothing happens and we pass through the forest with ease.

“Jean,” Marco murmurs. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, my love.”

“So we’re lost?”

“I’m sure we are, why?”

His grip on my hand loosens slightly and he comes to a stop, moving closer to me, trembling in the cold and dark. I can hear his heart racing as he buries his face into my neck and I wrap my arms around him to try and comfort him. “If we’re lost, then where’s the door to the In Between?” he tremors.

Shaken breath comes loose from my lips and my eyes dart around to search for the familiar, inviting light of the door to shine through the black. But all I see is nothingness. If the door’s missing, we can’t leave. There’s nothing out there except the rattled breathing of other lifeforms around us and their prying eyes. We’re completely alone and there’s no way out.

“I can’t see it,” I wheeze, the breath leaving my lungs quicker than I can keep it in. “I can’t see it anywhere.”

“What do we do?” His nails bite into my skin as I hold him close, trying to keep calm whilst my panicked breath deceives me.

“We keep walking,” I nod to myself. “We keep walking until we either find the door or get to the other side. Either way, we’re not going back.”

Cold tears run down my neck as Marco silently sobs into my skin, clinging onto me as I try to navigate our way out of here. The only problem is that I can hardly see a thing since the moonlight’s been completely shut out by the cloak of treetops above us.

Although I know it’s risky and could draw too much attention to us, I raise my hand out in front of me and focus all of my energy into my fingertips. A small, glowing orb begins to flicker in my palm and I feel my heart speed up, battering against my ribs as hisses of unknown creatures begin to snarl around us. I would reach for my sword in another form of defence, but the way I have my other arm wrapped around Marco is shielding him from whatever’s out there. So my sword stays in its hilt, batting slowly against my leg in the breeze.

When the orb is at its brightest glow, I stare out into the dark, only to be faced with something much worse. My breath catches in my throat and I choke on it as my vision focusses and the immense form of the thing in front of us sharpens. As much as I try to shy Marco’s eyes away, I’m too petrified to move and Marco’s line of vision joins mine as we stare in horror at the monster standing amongst the trees.

The light of the orb allows us to look at it in its complete grotesqueness and Marco only just manages to stifle the beginnings of a scream as he gazes at it in detail.

The shadows that pooled around our feet earlier have mutated and morphed into a creature far more sinister that towers over us like the trees themselves. The faceless, black, dripping being cracks its neck to the side as it stares at us with its empty eyes and slowly raises a talon infested hand towards us. Its claws rake down a tree trunk, leaving behind fresh, frayed slashes that could easily be our skin if we don’t move. My stomach lurches and the feeling of my sword in my hand becomes more tempting, yet I’m too frozen to move. More shadows branch out from the beat like tentacles from its bony, hollow body as they taunt us, calling out our names and screaming.

This time, instead of me screaming from the shadows’ shrieks, Marco does, letting go of me entirely to dig the heels of his hands into the chasms of his eyes and rake his hands through his hair. “Jean!” he screeches, kneeling down onto the ground to make the voices stop. I’ve felt this too many times before. I know what he’s feeling – the pain of those screams that claws at your skin and impales you like knives is enough to make you want to end it all. I know it all too well. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Trying to keep my eyes on the shadowed beast as best I can, I kneel down to Marco’s level and try to get him to look at me. But the moment my eyes leave the sight of the monster, it moves. A dripping, oozing tar leg, too thin to be human, steps towards us in a long, outstretched stride. Its foot plants on the ground and it roars at us, making Marco scream even louder.

We need to move.                     

Fear burning in my core and my head too dizzy to even comprehend what I’m about to do, I heave Marco off the floor and into my arms. This sudden strength surging through my body moves me in ways I never thought I could. I lift Marco up and over my shoulder, and gazing back at the approaching beast makes my legs move on complete instinct. I run with Marco screaming in agony in my ear and my light guiding our way as the beast chases after us, roaring even louder and swiping its gigantic talons at us as we move away from its reach.

“It hurts!” Marco yells. “Jean, make it stop! I can’t take this!”

My throat dry and my legs aching, the beasts breath almost hot on the back of my neck, I focus my attention on Marco. He’s done it for me so many times before. I can’t bear seeing him like this and in such a state. I can’t even begin to imagine how he feels when he sees me like this. “Marco, my love,” I pant, “it will be alright. Everything will be alright, sweetheart.”

Another almighty roar from the beast buries itself into bloodstream and I keep talking, reassuring both myself and Marco that everything will be alright. “Marco,” I wheeze, almost out of breath, “Marco, I love you and I will not let anything touch you.” Although he can’t hear me, I speak anyway. “I will die before I let anything happen to you. We will make it through this, I promise. I will get you out of this even if it kills me. I love you too much to let anything happen to you.”

Just as I spew my promise into the surrounding mist, Marco’s weight on my shoulder disappears entirely with a final shriek and I’m falling forwards. My body crashes through the light shining through our way and I’m plunged into almost complete darkness aside from the tiniest ray of moonlight shining down from over my head. I land on the floor with my face in the dirt and the deafening sound of silence enveloping me. I can’t hear Marco anymore. I can’t feel him anywhere.

Heaving my body, despite the sharp pain in my gut, I roll over onto my back to look for Marco. My eyes dart back and forth, searching for his form, yet all I see is black. “Marco!” I yell. I sit up in a panic and my back stings as if my spine’s been shattered by an unknown force. My fall’s made me unable to stand, so I sit uselessly in the dark, calling out my lover’s name, only to get silence in return.

As my heartbeat begins to disrupt my basic senses, a dark form appears in the ray of moonlight. It’s the beast again and it has Marco within its grasp, his eyes wide and his hands grappling at the dripping arm pressed against his throat.

“Marco!” Using all my strength, I attempt to get up, only to be pushed back down to the ground by an almighty, unseen power. Shadows surround me like a pack to its prey and they bind me to the ground as I watch Marco struggle in the monster’s grip. His thoughts are so corrupted by the voices and shrieks in his head that he can’t even scream my own name. Each time he tries, only a broken sob emits from his lips and he hangs in the beast’s hold lamely, beginning to give up on himself. “Don’t worry, Marco,” I rasp, “I’ll get us out of here, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His eyes fix on a sound coming from amongst the trees and he goes silent, gritting his teeth and struggling in terror in the shadows’ hold. Branches and undergrowth crack and creak behind me as another being enters the clearing we’ve fallen into.

The moment this thing’s presence is felt, the air drops to freezing and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising as it approaches. All goes silent as it nears, its ominous footsteps echoing from behind me and making my insides twinge with each step. Even Marco falls quiet as it comes closer. He stares at it in a dizzying horror and tries to pull the shadows’ arms away in an attempt to escape. But the beast holds him tighter, not caring if it chokes him, and all either of us can do is wait.

Before I can even turn around to look at the cold being, a sheet of black sweeps past me like a morning breeze and glides over to Marco, whose eyes have gone wide with fear at the approaching cloaked figure. The unknown being settles directly in front of him, its face shrouded in obscurity by the heavy hood that he’s pulled over his head, and places a bony hand on Marco’s cheek. At the slightest touch, Marco flinches away, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. “Look at you,” the being coos. “You’ve got yourself into a bit of a tizzy, haven’t you?”

As the being attempts to touch him again, Marco winces and pulls away. He looks at the being with a dizzying horror in his eyes that’s made him unable to speak and pulls his lips together as to not scream. The being still doesn’t show his face. He just taunts Marco further. “What’s wrong? You’re not _scared,_ are you?” When the being doesn’t receive an answer, only shallow breaths, he leans in closer, leering at him with a crooked grin. “You shouldn’t be,” he smiles. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Marco.”

“Bullshit,” I hiss, making my presence heard and getting his attention away from Marco.

In an instant, the cloaked figure turns to me, staring me down with shadowed eyes that make my skin crawl and mind race. “Yes, of course,” he mutters. “I almost forgot that you’re here too.”

“Let him go,” I demand, struggling against the shadows binding my wrists to the floor.

For a moment, the figure stays silent, processing my order, and then laughs. “And what are _you_ going to do about it? Kill me?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I intend to do.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, waving his hand in dismissal, “you’re wasting your time, Jean, I’ve heard this all before.”

When he says my name, I understand what death feels like.

He moves away from Marco to come closer to where I’m bound, and once he’s staring down at me like a speck of dust on the floor, he clears his throat. “Let him go! Don’t touch him or I’ll kill you! You’re a monster! How could you do something like this?! You’ll pay for this, witch!” he mocks, shooting his arms out dramatically as he speaks. “It’s stupid, really. You don’t even know who I am, yet you’re already threatening to kill me.”

“Then enlighten me,” I growl.

“I’d be more than happy to.” An unsettling, sublime smile crawls across his lips as he saunters to another part of the clearing, commanding both myself and Marco to look at him whilst he performs for us. The single ray of moonlight shining in from the eclipsed sky gleams over the being’s immense cloak. He looks up, grinning from ear to ear and stares out into the black. “You’ve probably heard of me before,” he smiles. “I understand that Levi’s told you all about me.” My stomach drops the moment the realisation hits me, but I stay silent anyway, transfixed on the graceful movements of the being’s form in the sharp air. “They call me The Darkness,” he rumbles. “But you two know me by a very different name.”

Marco’s breath shakes as The Darkness raises his hands to his hood to finally reveal himself. My heart’s pounding against my ribcage like a battering ram as his cover begins to fall, and my breath catches in my throat. I almost don’t want to look after what he’s just said. If we _know_ him, he would have been around us the whole time, heard our every thought, trusted our every word. He would have been there through all of this and we never even knew. He’s been killing us slowly from the very start, right under our noses.

We’ve led ourselves into dealings with the very person who’s trying to kill us and we never even knew.

The hood falls. When his face is exposed in the pale moonlight in all its horror, Marco screams. And The Darkness smiles, feeding off both our repulsion as he steps back into the shadow, glowering at us with those beady, black eyes that I’m all too familiar with.

“Jean?!” Marco yells. “No it’s a lie! You’re lying! It’s not you, it can’t be you!”

The very sight of him sends my mind into meltdown. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand _how_ this could even happen. It’s impossible. It’s not real. This is just another one of my fucking dreams and I’m going to wake up any moment now with cold sweat running down my back and my eyes blurry.

But I don’t. Only the feeling of confusion and delirium fills me as I look upon the face that I look at every time I see my reflection. The _thing_ standing in front of me wears the same face that I do and he even _smiles_ like me. But it’s those empty, hollow, black eyes that make me sick to the stomach and realise that none of this can be real. The Darkness cannot be me when I’m sitting right here watching all of this unfold.

The imposter using my face as his own is not me. I am not that _thing._ I am not a monster. I am _not_ , nor will I _ever_ be The Darkness.

“No,” I breathe. “It can’t be true.”

The Darkness stiffens, aiming his glare towards me and storms over, towering over my shadow whilst he blanks Marco’s ever increasing screams of despair. “Look at me!” he bellows, gripping my shoulders. “Look at me and tell me who I am!”

I stare into his black eyes and wait for my soul to be swallowed whole. All I see in him is hatred and nothingness, as if he’s been wiped clean. I see no evidence of myself in him except for his appearance. This thing isn’t me.

“You are not and will _never_ be me.”

“Tough shit. I _am_ you,” he hisses, raising up again and turning to Marco, who’s still sobbing and shrieking, unable to utter a word. “Shut up!” he shouts, swiping his hand down. The moment his palm cuts through the air, a shadow latches itself over Marco’s mouth and only muffled cries and yells can be heard from him.

“Marco!” Breath chokes me as Marco’s pleading eyes land on me and I struggle upwards, finding that this time, The Darkness allows me to rip through my bonds and rush to where the shadows are holding Marco captive. The moment I reach him, he grapples at me, begging to be set free from the motionless cage he’s trapped in and I pull at his arms in hopes to get him out. But the shadows have such a hard grip on him, that all I manage to do is fall backwards into the dirt again.

As Marco begins to sob silently into the black muzzling his face, I look up at him helplessly, reaching out to him as he cries for my help. But I don’t know how to give it to him.

The sound of laughter jolts my entire body and the very thought of this imposter inhabiting a copy of my body brings bile to my throat. “No,” I exhale. “No, you can’t be me. How is it even possible?” I don’t even know who I’m asking anymore. Every memory and emotion that’s stumbling through my head is now a blur, blinding me from what I think should be a reasonable explanation for this.

Maybe this is all just a dream? What if I’ve just hit my head on something and I haven’t woken up yet? What if Marco’s fucked up another love potion that’s made us start hallucinating? What if—

“Stop trying to think of excuses, Jean,” The Darkness snorts. “I can hear everything you’re thinking and it’s all bullshit.”

I jolt upwards instantly, shooting him a pained glare. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can hear everything you’re thinking. We’re the same person, remember?”

“No, we’re not,” I snap. “You’re a monster.”

Just as I would, The Darkness flinches when I call him that. It’s miniscule. Only the tiniest corner of his lip twitches as he’s hit with the insult, but it’s there. Every move he’s made since the very moment I saw him has been the same as my own. He even speaks like me. I don’t know where he’s come from or why it’s me that he’s impersonating, but he’s a perfect copy.

“’Copy’?” he scoffs. “I am not a ‘ _copy’_. How many times do I have to remind you until you actually grasp this concept?”

I stay silent, keeping my distance out of fear. This is the thing that’s destroyed the lives of so many people in this world, including Marco’s. He’s a beast, a vile creature, a _thing_ that feeds off the misfortune of others. He’s the reason I used to be afraid of the dark.

“We are the same person, Jean,” he says slowly. “We just come from different worlds.” He starts to approach me, staying cautious with each step as he watches me reach for my sword. “You come from this world, where you’re weak and powerless. However, I come from a world where I rule over everything.”

Drawing my sword, I don’t allow him to come any closer, keeping the point directly in line with his throat. I could cut it now so easily. All I need to do is move the blade. It’s just touching his soft, pale skin, making the slightest indent in the flesh. I’m desperate to rip it open to make him pay for everything he’s done. But for some reason, I can’t.

He doesn’t even take notice of the clean blade pressed against him as he continues to speak. “Jean, where I come from, there’s no royal family. I’m invincible, _immortal,_ I can do as I please and there’s no one to stop me,” he grins. “My powers are _limitless_ , Jean, and yours could be too.” The amount of vigour and enthusiasm he forces into his voice makes my concentration falter for just a moment. By the time my eyes have sharpened again, he’s avoided my sword entirely and has pressed himself against my back.

His breath is icy cold against my skin and I can feel his bony hands resting on my shoulders. They feel like weights pushing down on me and he only makes it worse by sliding his hand along my raised arm to join me in holding my sword.

“We could be the most powerful witches that have ever lived, Jean. We could rule over every world in the universe, conquering them one-by-one until they’re all grovelling at our feet,” he smirks. “We’d be invincible.” He wraps his hand around the hilt of my sword a little tighter and I find myself being pulled around to face Marco again. When he stops turning me, I find that I’m staring at him directly down the blade of my own sword, the point only a fraction away from his chest. “You’re angry with yourself because you’re not strong enough to heal others, yes?”

Shaking, I nod, desperately trying not to fall too deeply into the memory of the night that I selfishly healed my own wounds and not Levi’s, Eren’s or Marco’s. However, as much as I try not to relive the thoughts I experienced that night they come anyway, bringing chokes to my throat and doubt to my mind.

Without even thinking, my blade edges closer to Marco’s heaving chest.

“Jean, if you join me you can have that power,” The Darkness utters, his glee growing at Marco’s struggling limbs. “You have it within you already, but I can teach you how to use it. You could heal anyone you wanted.”

“Anyone?”

“ _Anyone_.” His breath comes closer to my ear as he says it, his voice creeping through my bloodstream like a ghost as his promises begin to cloud my reasoning and conscience. “All you need to do,” The Darkness whispers, “is kill the Prince.”

“Is that what you did?” I ask, pushing the tip of my sword closer to Marco’s heart. I can hear his muffled cries of my name, yet the power running my veins makes me numb to the effects of his voice and begging eyes.

“No, I didn’t need to,” The Darkness huffs. “In the world where I come from, Prince Marco was killed when he was merely a baby. It was told that a vampire going by the name of Levi did his fucking job right and killed him like he was supposed to. So I’ve never met him until now.”

Marco tries to scream out my name again, but it falls on deaf ears. The sound of The Darkness’ whispers in my ears are overpowering Marco’s muted shrieks and only the vision of power and immortality fills my mind. “Why do I need to kill _him_ in particular?”

“He makes you weak. He’s the reason you’re not like me. The shadows won’t even _try_ to harm him. Whenever _he’s_ around, the shadows can’t do their job and help you. If you let them in, you’ll be like me,” he snarls. “But _he_ stops them from getting to you. _He_ wards them away and he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. It’s almost as if he reflects them away from you.”

He will always ward them away from me. He can see the light inside of me when all I know is darkness. And that is what keeps me from breaking into ruin.

“Kill him,” he gnarls, “and we can _rule_ , Jean. We can conquer any universe we want.”

Eyes drift away from the point of my sword to Marco’s own. The soft, bloodshot eyes staring back at me in fear causes my heartbeat to tremor and my hand shake. He looks at me with a mixture of emotions I hope to never see again: desperation, sadness, terror and _love_ , all at once. He loves me even though I’ve got a sword pointed at his chest and my wicked counterpart whispering lies into my ear that I actually _believed_. I look into those perfect, unspoiled, deep eyes that a sunset couldn’t ever compare to and I _know_. I know that power or immortality isn’t what I need, nor will it ever be.

I love Marco. And I would give up my life for him in a heartbeat.

“No.”

The presence against my back moves and those deathly black eyes bore into the side of my head. “ _’No’_?” he growls.

The sword I have pressed against Marco’s chest falls. I keep a firm grip on the hilt, clenching it so hard that the patterns etched into the metal begin to imprint on my skin. I can feel my rage bubbling in my gut, growing larger by the moment as I continue to feel the presence of those _disgusting_ empty eyes on me.

“What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’? Are you an imbecile? Do you have _any_ idea what you’re doing?!” he shouts. “You’d give up all this _power_ for _him_?!”

“Shut up!” I bellow, thrashing towards him as my mania rips through me. “I will _never_ harm him! _Never_! I am no martyr – you will not take my light from me!”

Screaming into the nothing, I raise my sword above my head and bring it crashing down towards The Darkness. In a swift, clean move, he steps out of the way, making my sword clang on the floor as it cuts through the air.

The Darkness laughs at my failure, reaching into his cloak to draw his own sword. The sly, crooked grin he gives me causes me to feel uneasy, and the beginnings of a spiked hilt come into view.

When he pulls it out into the illuminated night, I have to take in a sharp breath to comprehend how such a weapon could even exist. The hilt itself could be a weapon of its own, with spikes thrusting in every direction that curve elegantly into the handle. The blade is fucking terrifying. Three individual curved lengths of the finest metal, weave in and out of one another in a perfect spiral until the make a perfect point at the very tip of the knife-edge. It seems to radiate its own shadow as The Darkness begins to wield it, dragging the blade across his palm to show me just how sharp it really it. It bites through his skin perfectly, leaving no jagged edges, only a fine, thin trail of oozing blood.

Now knowing what I’m up against, I look to Marco, still being held in the iron grip of the shadowed beast. The countenance of struggle no longer graces his features, but he nods, filling me with the motivation to spill the blood of my equal before the night is out.

I’ll kill him. I’ll rip him to shreds. I’ll kill him for Marco.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The Darkness mocks. “You already know that I’m more powerful than you, so why take the risk?”

“He’s worth more than my life.”

“Then he can watch you die.”

Those final words settle between us like dust and we glare at one another through anguishing eyes that Death would be proud of. We raise our swords to one another, preparing ourselves for the coming moments, and determining in our own minds which one of us will fall.

I’ve lost too much to lose a battle against myself. I will conquer myself, instead of unknown worlds where I am not welcome. I am not this dark, twisted person. Yes, I have shadows living within me – we all do. But we’re all playing the same game – living in the same hell – just dealing with different demons. This just happens to be mine. And I will defeat it.

The Darkness yells and comes crashing towards me, aiming the blade straight for my chest and I mirror his actions, clasping the hilt of my sword as fear pulses through me. When we meet the metal of our blades clang together and the sound bellows through the trees. It slices through any qualms I had about this all being real as he glowers at me through the cross we’ve created with our weapons with such intense eyes that I almost lose my concentration.

He pushes against me as hard as he can to get our positons to change, neither of our blades budging as we force our equal weight into one another, gritting our teeth as we do. The metal through our colliding blades and we growl at each other, our breath cold on one another’s skin as we drive forwards.

In a moment of fatality, I move my eyes from my opponent to my feet, watching them slowly slip from their sturdiness as he forces me backwards. He charges at me with his curved blade upheld, falling in to swing at me and following it with a backswing.

I dodge the first swipe without a scrape and meet the second with my sword. The power I put into my defence sends The Darkness backwards, but not far enough to knock the blade from his hands.

He only drives forwards again, coming at me with a powerful backswing that I only just manage to escape, the sharp curved edge of his blade tearing through my armour, but just missing my skin by a fraction of an inch.

Enraged by the ease of my dodge, The Darkness tries again, this time crashing into me, returning our position to the cross we’d created with our blades only a few fleeting moments ago. But my footing crumbles over the brute force being pressed against me and I fall into the dirt, landing on my back with a shattering sensation running up my spine that winds me. I face upwards as The Darkness towers over me with his sword raised, laughing at my impending demise. His blade swoops downwards, approaching my skin with a terrifying speed.

I jolt my weapon off the ground and hold it over my face, grabbing the blade with my bare hand for more force as the crash of metal strikes it. The power of the impact causes blood to run from my palm as my weapon cuts into my skin. As The Darkness presses down on me, I hiss through my teeth as the edge deepens into my hand, making crimson run over my wrist like my own veins.

“What’s wrong, Jean?” he sneers. “Is it too much for you?”

“Never,” I grunt, boring my eyes into his.

He grins at the hatred washing over me and he lurches forwards, staring right through me as his eyes light up. “If only you could see yourself now,” he gasps. “You look just like me.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you!”

“ _Really_?” he leers. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

I scream at him, driving myself upwards through his pressure and I kick at him, managing to land my blow on his side and he stumbles backwards. His misstep gives me a moment to stagger upwards and I wipe the blood on my hand onto my tunic, returning my hold to my sword.

Once straightened, he laughs, waving his weapon like a toy as he beams at me wickedly. “Let it consume you, Jean!” he howls. “Your eyes are darker than our soul already. You may as well let them take over!”

“You’re lying!”

“Look into your blade,” he smirks, “and then tell me that again.”

Choking on my own breath from his spiel, my doubts begin to cloud my basic common sense and I glance into my reflection shining on the metal held in front of me.

“You see?” he leers. “We’re identical!”

The sight that faces me in the image on my own source of defence is one that sickens me to the core. I really do look just like him. Even my eyes are empty and hollow, only leaving behind black, faceless abysses that are too dark to look in to. My chest heaving, I snap my eyes away before I become engulfed by the hatred swirling within them and I fix it all onto the monster in front of me.

My eyes may look like his, but I am nothing like him.

“You have no fucking idea how different we are,” I rumble, steadying my weapon in my trembling hand and I prepare myself for his coming wrath. “You are nothing to me!”

Howling, The Darkness comes for me again, slashing forwards in a furious rage that dashes past my cheek and bites through my flesh. He doesn’t stop this time, charging forwards and stabbing at me, only to be met by my own force that crashes against him.

A kick to my chest sends me back down to the floor again. It throbs throughout my body and I feel as if my ribs are impaling my insides. I can barely breathe, let alone move, so I watch as The Darkness approaches me, sword at the ready.

I hear Marco trying to scream my name, echoed and muffled, almost silent. Smiling, The Darkness decides to unmute his prisoner to taunt me further. The moment the shadow latched to Marco’s mouth disappears, his screams bellow throughout the clearing. “Jean, get up!” he shrieks. “Get up!”

The sound of his voice rips through me and I haul myself onto my knees as my adversary heaves his sword down with an almighty yell. My blood-smeared hands grapple with the handle of my weapon, but I don’t pull it up in time, only scratching the metal lashing towards me as it comes crashing down.

A stabbing pain pierces through my shoulder and I scream out as The Darkness buries his blade further into me. The pain races through my body, making every part of me burn and I look to my grinning opponent, speechless and numbed by the screeching pain coursing through me.

“Jean!” Marco screams, kicking and wrestling in his captor’s hold as he watches me fall. His voice turns into echoes as I prepare for my death and I gaze at him with blood dripping down my cheek and a look that I hope portrays everything I ever wanted to tell him.

When The Darkness wrenches his blade out of my shoulder, I close my eyes and wait for the piercing sensation in my chest to come. It feels like forever’s booming down on me as I wait. The blood from my wounds rush over me like water and I just want him to get it over with now. I can’t endure another moment of listening to Marco’s desperate screams. I can’t listen to any more of my failure.

“Just kill me,” I breathe. “Just kill me and let Marco go.”

Manic laughter shocks my system into a frozen panic and my eyes shoot open. The Darkness drops his sword to the ground in his state of hysterics and holds his heaving belly to stop himself from tumbling over. He gasps in a long breath and then calms himself as he notices my stillness and shock on my face. “Really?” he scoffs. “Did you actually think I was going to kill you when you’re the one I need?” With a devilish grin, he turns to Marco, who flinches under his gaze and emits petrified, stuttered breathing from his corrupted lungs. “It’s your boyfriend I want dead.”

“Fuck off,” Marco hisses. “Leave this this world, you’re not wanted here.”

The Darkness gasps. “Is that really something you want to be saying to the one you love?”

“I don’t love you!”

He laughs. “I am Jean, remember? Of course you love me, sweetheart.” He raises his hand in front of him, morphing his it into a claw shape and grinning. Silence comes crashing down on us as a dark, smoking orb of shadow begins flaming in the palm of his hand. It flickers softly in the breeze and sucks in all the light glowing around it until it becomes nothing but an endless void, burning within The Darkness’ fingertips.

The instant he starts to storm towards Marco, his orb of black in hand, I drag myself up from the floor, dropping my sword onto the ground. My shoulder throbs as I charge after him, screaming out and chasing his path. “You will not touch him!” Anger tears through me as I run and the moment I’m close enough, I throw myself onto his back, pulling him down and away from Marco before he can lay a single finger on him.

We fall for what seems like an eternity. For the whole time, I don’t lose my grip on The Darkness once, dragging him into the dirt with me as his dark void fades. I watch as Marco’s face morphs into horror, latching his eyes onto me and crying out. At first, I can’t see what he’s yelling about, but then I see fragments of black fraying around us as we cut through the air and The Darkness’ cloak dissipates into nothing. As his covering vanishes, so do the shadows holding Marco captive and he falls too, gasping for breath as he lands face first in the dirt.

When we crash onto the ground, I see that The Darkness’ cloak has disappeared, and in its place is a suit of perfectly handcrafted, black leather armour that’s completely identical to mine.

Slanting his eyes to the side, he gives me a wicked glare that shakes me to the bone before Marco sees and wrestles himself free from my grasp. The moment he stands, I watch in terror as his entire demeanour changes. From what was once a face filled with loathing and repulsion, comes a face with desperation and disbelief etched into every crevice. His breath even begins to shake in alarm as he stares at me in fear and he stumbles away from me.

He’s acting as if he’s me. He’s acting as if _I’m_ The Darkness.

The moment Marco hears movement, he lifts his face from the ground, his breath leaving him instantly as he sees the two of us – identical in every way right down to the cut that has now appeared on my equal’s cheek and the wound on his shoulder. He balls his fists in the undergrowth, blinking over and over again to wake himself up, but he stays where he is. “Jean?” Marco whimpers, darting his eyes between both our forms, trying with all his might to decide for himself who is who. “Jean, w-what – I…”

“Marco, my love,” I plead, rolling onto my knees and reaching out to him. “Marco, it’s me, I—“

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, crawling back on his hands and away from me as if I were some unrecognisable creature. “Both of you: don’t come anywhere near me.”

My eyes fall onto The Darkness, still staring at me as if _I_ were the one causing this. And in this moment, I have _never_ embodied someone with so much _hatred_ than I am now. Until this instant, I have never experienced what a monster is truly like. I’ve never had the experience of calling someone such a name without a single ounce of guilt until now. I never knew what made a monster until I met this _vile_ creation standing before me.

I _hate_ him. He’s turning the one I love against me and I swear on my fucking life that his blood will be spilled by the time the sun rises.

I will not leave this forest until that _monster_ is dead.

Even when I look at him with so much disgust, he still continues to play the angel and act as if he’s scared of me. He should be. He hasn’t managed to kill me, and whatever doesn’t kill me should run for the hills because now I’m fucking pissed.

Glaring at him with fire burning in me, I stand, ignoring Marco’s shaken breaths and I thrash towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his armour. I pull him into me with such a force that he flinches, his breath quivering as I heave through grinding teeth.

“Why are you doing this to us?” he sobs, looking to Marco in a plea for help. “Just let Marco go.”

“I’m not doing anything!” I bark. “It’s _you_!” Anger clouding my thoughts, I shake him in my hold, shouting incoherent words that should be screams for help, but only come out as desperation and tears claw at my insides. “It’s _you_! _You’ve_ done this! _You_ killed my mother! _You_ hurt Eren! _You_ nearly took Marco away from me and I _will_ kill you!” My hands move from his armour to his neck and I wrap them around his throat like a noose, squeezing his flesh as hard as I can until I hear his breath begin to waver. “I’ll kill you!” Harder. “I’ll kill you!” Harder. “I’ll—“

“Stop!”

The demand hits me like I’m being stabbed with a knife and I drop the wilting body in my hands instantly, realising what I’m becoming. The Darkness coughs and splutters on the ground, creating as much sympathy for himself as he can. Now I understand what he intended. He _wanted_ me to do that. He wanted to prove to me that he was right… that we’re the same.

He wanted to prove that deep down in the corners of my mind where I’ve never dared to venture before, I’m as much of a monster as he is.

What _am_ I becoming?

Shaking, I raise my hands in front of me, gazing blearily at my trembling fingers that almost killed, even though I wanted to and still do. But it was the way in which I did it that scares me. I’ve never acted like that before. I’ve never felt so much anger in me before.

And when I look to the voice who told me to stop, my heart shatters into a million pieces as I stare down the point of a single silver arrow being drawn by the one I call mine.

“Marco?” I shake. “M-Marco, what are you doing?”

He’s crying, his stance quivering as he refuses to look me in the eye. He’s scared, frightened like me by the actions I just performed for all to see, exposing the darkness within me that I never knew I had.

I don’t blame him for being scared.

“How do I know?” he asks, moving his eyes slowly between me and The Darkness, who rises from the ground as he’s looked upon. “How do I know it’s you, Jean?”

“You don’t,” I tell him. “You’ve just got to trust me.”

A cold presence creeps up my side as The Darkness appears next to me, looking to Marco with the same pleading expression as me in hopes to alter his way of thinking. “Don’t listen to him,” he begs. “Marco, _he’s_ The Darkness. Didn’t you see what he just did to me?”

The moment he speaks, Marco moves the direction of his bow from my throat to his and stares him down instead as he talks, pleading his empty case to my light.

I’m not going to stand here and compete with this _thing_ for a love that’s already mine, so I stay silent, listening to The Darkness’ nonsense whilst I look at Marco in the same way I always have since the day I kissed him in the field outside the shop. I look at him with the memories of all the times we’ve spent together that have been the greatest, most meaningful moments in my life.

He’s the light of my life. He’s the one I’d chase through thousands of lifetimes until he returns to me again, merely because I couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. He’s the one who’s made me see things I could never see alone and I would give him the whole world if I could.

Even now when he’s crying in fear, staring at both me and my double in deathly confusion, all I see is light radiating from him. All I see in him is good. All I see when I look at Marco Bodt is the one that I will love for all eternity, even if it kills me.

“Marco,” I breathe. It’s nothing, a mere whisper, but it cuts through The Darkness’ plea with ease.

The hush of Marco’s name washes over him like waves and he turns to me with wide eyes, begging for a sign to get him out of this mess. And then he sees it: all the words I have never said to him come rushing out of me in just a look that reaches out and touches him.

A weight feels as if it’s being lifted off of me as I feel the shadows sticking to my skin dwindle away as Marco’s hopeful glance locks onto me. When the abyss clinging to my sight clears too, Marco gives me a smile that warms me through and he runs to me. The bow crashes to the ground the moment he realises and throws his arms around me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear over and over again as he vows to never let me go.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he utters, running his fingers through my hair.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I breathe, burying my face in his neck. “I’ll love you for all eternity.”

The kiss he places on my lips is desperate, adoring, as if he hasn’t seen me for years. Gently, he holds my face in his hands like he’ll never let me go and strokes my skin with his calloused fingertips that have held more weight between them that any person should.

He clasps me, keeping my lips locked on his neck as his breath begins to slow, folding me into him as the whole world falls silent for us. Just for a moment, I forget everything. All I can hear is the sound of Marco’s breath as he keeps me close, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers. Here in his arms, I’m at peace. There’s nothing that can keep me from him now.

A jolt in Marco’s breath breaks my thought and everything around me begins to slow.

“No!” he screams.

Marco pushes me away from him, forcing me backwards to the ground in turmoil. My hands reach out to him frantically as I fall, grabbing at nothing but air, yet he doesn’t see me. Horror and fear becomes etched into his skin as The Darkness charges towards him, clutching the deathly curved blade in his hand.

When my back crashes into the undergrowth, a sound of silence tears through the atmosphere like fire. It’s loud enough to make the heavens cry and it drums in my head like a heartbeat… a heartbeat that I can hear slowly fading as fatal metal pierces through Marco’s body.

A rush of air fills his lungs as he looks to me with glassy eyes that scream louder than words ever could and he collapses the moment the sword is wrenched out of him.

“Marco!” I shriek, crawling over to his body like a desperate, grovelling creature, grabbing at his armour with shaking hands. “Marco, no!”

Tears run from both of us as I kneel beside him, placing my hand over the wound inflicted on him and screaming louder at the blood that comes from it. His hitched breathing is slow and fading as he holds my hand, running his thumb over my skin like he has done so many times before.

“You’ll be alright,” I weep, clutching his fingers in my own hopelessly. “You’ll be alright, my moon and stars. _You’ll be alright_.”

Marco doesn’t say a word. He smiles at me, raising a weak, almost lifeless hand to my cheek.

I can’t let him go.

“You should have taken up my offer,” The Darkness scoffs, casting a shadow over us that turns Marco’s skin colder by the moment. “If you had, then you wouldn’t feel the grief you do now.”

“He’s not dead,” I hiss. “I won’t let him die!”

He laughs, wiping Marco’s blood clean from his sword onto his sleeve without an instant of remorse and gives me a crooked half-smile that brings me even closer to insanity. “Useless,” he mutters. “You’ll never be powerful if you give your heart up for people so easily.”

“I love him.”

“Then die with him,” he sneers. “I have no more use for you.”

The sword, still stained with the blood of my light, rises above my head and I wait silently for my execution. It’s curved point glints with a wicked glare in the moonlight, filling me with the feeling of its pain rushing through me already. But I’m too numb to care. A world without my light isn’t one worth defending. Who’d want to stay in a world where light doesn’t exist?

And since I can feel my light dying right next to me, his heartbeat slowing under my palm, I wait.

_Save Marco_.

Only by looking at Marco’s fading body beside me, I raise my arm up as The Darkness’ sword comes crashing down on me and light bursts from my palm. It spreads all around us like a shield, driving away the shadows that surround us and scattering them. The aura of it fills the entire clearing with a brilliance that’s never been brighter and I fight, pushing upwards despite the force pressing down on me.

“Jean,” Marco breathes, his glow fading more by the moment. “Jean, my moon and stars, live.” He holds my hand tighter, igniting something within me that makes fire burn through my veins and my light even brighter. Blurring out the shouts of The Darkness, slowly becoming blotted out by the shield around us, I scoop Marco up in my arms and hold him to my chest so he can see what I see. “You can survive this, my love. You can do anything.”

I scream, pushing all I have into the radiance emitting from my skin and pressing Marco to my chest so he can heart my heart race just from the feeling of having him near. He holds onto me for dear life as I and myself yell at one another, waiting for the other to dissipate into nothing.

My arm aches as I drive upwards, inching closer and closer to The Darkness’ skin. I can _see_ the light. I can _feel_ him breathing against my skin. And he is beautiful. He is selfless. He doesn’t deserve any of this. He is _my_ Marco and I will not let him see me fall!

With a final, erupting scream, I lurch forwards. The blade that I was so terrified of only moments ago shatters merely by my touch, shooting a vein of light down its hilt that catches the skin of The Darkness. He glares at me in panic as his sword dissipates and he roars in rage. But he’s too late. My light’s coursing through him, joining with his blood and making his skin crack, exposing jagged tears that shine through, making him scream and claw at his demise.

I watch with a pitiless glare as he shines through his calls of anguish, his veins running pure silver that bleeds into his eyes. The glow erases the black from his chasms and the fiery amber that he was born with returns.

With a final scream, The Darkness disintegrates into nothing.

Relief pours over me in waves as ashes fall from where he once stood. They rain down on me like snow, light as a feather, and settle on my skin.

The light illuminating the clearing dwindles away as I regain my breath, beaming into the black from the non-existent feeling of the shadows creeping over me. It’s bliss. And I’m free.

“Marco,” I grin, “Marco we did it.” I run my hands through his hair as I gaze at the glorious emptiness around us. “Sweetheart, we won.”

Emptiness is only glorious for so long until I don’t receive an answer from him. Silence knocks me back, terrified to even look at him and I start to shake, only thinking of the worst.

“M-Marco?”

Petrified, I unfurl him away from my chest to look into his calming brown eyes.

They’re closed.

Breath heaving out of me harder than stone, I lay him on the floor, shaking his shoulders in a panic to get up. “Marco? Marco, wake up!”

Hands grapple at his face and I lean over him, praying to feel his breath against my flesh or hear him breathe a single word into the mist between us.

Nothing. I neither hear nor feel anything.

“Marco?!”

I’m shaking, trembling over him and tears rip through my thoughts. I scream at his body, begging for the feeling of those whiskey eyes that now lie closed falling onto me. Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him into me and I bawl into the crook of his neck, running my fingers through is hair in desperation as I gasp through chokes just to get a single breath of air.

I can’t stop screaming his name. A part of me hopes that if I scream it loud enough he’ll hear me wherever he is and come back.

I just want him to come back.

The pain in my chest is excruciating. Every part of me feels empty and hopeless as I hold the dead body of _my_ Marco, _my_ light. None of this can be true. A pain this great can’t be real, yet I feel it burning through my skin as I scream his name over and over again, never tiring of how he tastes on my mouth.

“Come back!” I shriek. “Come back, Marco, I _need_ you!”

We collapse onto the floor again and I curl into him, weeping into his chest where I used to hear a heartbeat and only silence lies now. The back of my throat scalds from screaming his name so many times, but I do it anyway. I pour all my energy and life into the syllables his name forms on my tongue and the memories that we shared together.

It hurts just to think of the way his eyes shone that night in Maria’s when we danced together. It hurts to think of the first time our lips melted together when he stared at me like I was the one who put the stars in the sky that day in the grass. It hurts to imagine the way he breathes the single sound of my name so perfectly that I feel as if I’m floating on air. It feels as if my life is being ripped away from me as I remember the first night we spent together when he made me glow so brightly just by being within his touch – a touch that I’ll never experience again because he’s gone.

My Marco is gone.

Knowing that I’ll never see his smile again or hear him call my name is like the breath being taken from my lungs, or the melody being ripped from a song. There’s nothing that I feel without him here and all I can do is scream.

I scream for my life. I scream for my Marco back. I scream until my throat burns raw and my light, a tiny, white ball of radiance, escapes from my lips and drifts in the air in front of me.

“Marco?”

When it leaves me, I stop my crying and grieving. I collapse next to him, lacing my fingers with his one last time and stare longingly at his peacefully closed eyes that held so much promise and brilliance.

I watch with dead, bloodshot eyes as Marco… and everything around me…

…fades to white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/93803861244/beneaththeweepingwillow) is The Darkness' sword.
> 
> Unfortunately this is going to have to be the last update for a while. I'm not going on hiatus or anything, but the updates will be delayed from now on because exam period has started and I really need to revise. I'll try and write in my free time but if there aren't regular updates, then please don't hate me.  
> And yes, there are more updates. I've actually managed to plan how many chapters of this fic are left to write and after this one there are 4 left. So that makes 17 chapters altogether!
> 
> I'll try and update ASAP because trust me the next chapter's a good'n!  
> (PS, please can the anon who asked me if Jean was The Darkness step forward so I may thank them personally and stare at them in awe for being so clever)
> 
> Next chapter: What's the point in victory when you've lost too much for it to be worth it?
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	14. Pyrrhic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pyrrhic"  
> ˈpɪrɪk/  
> adjective  
> 1\. (of a victory) won at too great a cost to have been worthwhile for the victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I suppose we can consider this an early update since I wasn't actually expecting to update until August. But here it is! Now you all get to know what happens in the aftermath of chapter 13.  
> However, this is a pretty short chapter and it is kinda vague, mostly because I don't want to reveal too much of what's to come later on. But yeah it's about 8K so it's not too bad.  
> Also, I'd love to say thank you to my lovely friend [squirrelseatpizza](http://squirrelseatpizza.tumblr.com/) for doing [this](https://twitter.com/ConfusSquirrle/status/579765876087459840) amazing sketch from the previous chapter and also to the gorgeous babe [nanabananase](http://nanabananase.tumblr.com/) for [this](http://livsws.tumblr.com/post/114654749538/structureinthepool-okay-idk-how-i-fucked-them) complete beauty (also from the last chapter).  
> Again, thank you so much for all your nice (and hilarious) comments/messages on the previous chapter. It really does mean a lot to me and I'm so glad you lovely people say such nice things about my writing. It makes me really happy to know what you all think!
> 
> Warnings: Nothing (except for people crying)!
> 
> Enjoy!

Two bodies lie side by side in the dirt. Lifeless. Cold. Both of them are utterly unmoving and unstirring to the growls and rumbles around them. Their hands are clasped together as if they were still breathing, but lie with no life left in either of them, holding onto one another even in death.

Demise clings to their flesh like a parasite and the silence that fills the air gives off a pungent scent that makes Levi’s stomach turn.

He hasn’t seen them there yet. He’s still wandering aimlessly through the deep wood, his squad trailing behind him, all tired and aching, but he knows. He can no longer sense Marco’s heartbeat and the hope of any good coming out of this forest is slowly diminishing. The smell of death clogs his lungs and he silently prays that it’s not from who he thinks it is.

“We’re going to die in here,” Reiner shivers as a hot breath crawls across the back of his neck. His mind is cast back to the beginning of all of this – to a time when things were simpler and when Marco was with them instead of running like a fugitive. He remembers the terrifying encounter he, Bertholdt and Marco had with an orc when all of this began. In his own strange way, he misses moments like those.

“We’re not going to die, Reiner,” Bertholdt says in a comforting tone that seems to make Reiner’s shoulders relax a little. “We just need to find Marco and then we can get out of here.”

“ _If_ we get out of here,” another guard grumbles, nearly tripping over a jutting branch that scrapes at his armour. “This place is a death trap waiting to happen.”

“Shut up, Michael,” Gunther snaps. “We follow Levi and that’s the end of it. He knows these woods.”

“That’s only because he’s a _vampire_.”

“ _Michael_!”

Despite the commotion going on behind him, Levi travels on, silent and blank, the feeling his gut growing stronger with each step. Petra looks on at him with a worried look that clouds her eyes enough to see only him and not the tree she’s heading straight towards. Luckily, Oluo pulls her out of the way with a sharp tug.

He leans his head towards her. “What’s wrong with him?” His head jolts in Levi’s direction.

“No idea,” Petra sighs. “But whatever it is it can’t be good. He looks scared.”

“But he knows this forest. Why would he be scared?”

She shrugs. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

With a dismissive huff, Oluo nudges Petra playfully, disregarding the fact that they’re in the middle of a forest that could kill them all in a matter of moments. “Well if there is anything out there I’m sure we can take care of it, eh?”

A sad smile graces Petra’s lips as she gazes at Levi again, who’s reverted to frantically searching between the trees for Marco. His breath escapes him in shallow gasps that leave him with no air left in his lungs and his hands grip at the tree trunks with puncturing nails each time he holds onto one for support.

He stops for a moment, absorbing the air around him that makes his hairs stand on end and his dead heart comes to life for just a second. The feeling of Marco’s heartbeat left him a long time ago, but yet he still searches for a single sign of hope.

Comforting hands grip his shoulders as he starts to tremble, losing his sense of sanity as the silence creeps over him like a shadow. Much to his relief, Petra’s calming demeanour appears in front of him and her hands stay on his shoulders like anchors, keeping him still just for a little while. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Her humour doesn’t do much good for him and he continues to stare out into the forest, listening out for any signs of life. Any at all…

“Levi…”

“I can’t feel Marco’s heartbeat.”

Both their breaths falter as Levi says those words and Petra’s grip on his shoulders hardens.

“W-what do you mean?” she stammers, trying to gain eye contact whilst he looks on into space.

Echoes of branches snapping make Levi’s shoulders hunch and his fists clench as the presence of a being that doesn’t hold the light that Marco has drifts past without giving any of them a second glance. “I mean that I’ve been trying to lure everyone away from them so they can get out but now I can’t even feel his presence in the forest. He’s either gotten out alive or he... o-or he…”

“Can you feel Jean?”

Levi shakes his head. “No. I can’t feel either of them.”

Despite the growing worry creeping over her, Petra looks on at the being in front of her with wide, comforting eyes that wash over him with a kind of integrity that makes him relax for just a moment. But another howl from within the trees cuts through their contact like an axe and Levi reverts back to his panicked state. “It just went out like a light,” he heaves. “One moment I could hear them, then the next I couldn’t. They were so close to us I started to worry that our paths might cross… then they faded into nothing and I don’t know where they are.”

A lump forms at the back of Petra’s throat. She’s never once questioned Levi’s senses, but for the first time since she met him, she begins to wonder whether this is too much for him. He’s been through a lot in these recent months and if Marco really is – no he couldn’t be, that’s ridiculous – but if he _were_ …

Petra stops thinking before it begins to affect her.

“Maybe they just made it out of the forest,” she nods, convincing both herself and Levi. “We must be close to the edge by now; it’s not exactly a big place. They’re probably well on their way by now.”

“But what if they’re not?” Levi snaps. “What if we leave here and they’re in trouble? What if we never see them again, Petra? What if—“

“Is something the matter?” Reeves’s cold voice pierces through Levi’s words like ice and settles over them, making them shiver. They look to him, standing proudly on a risen root that makes him look double his actual height and he stares down at them with questioning eyes that remind Petra of a snake. “We’ve been standing here whilst you two have your private meeting for a while now and we need to get moving if we’re actually planning on getting to them before the reach the border.”

“That’s the problem,” Levi murmurs. “I can’t sense either of them anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Reeves sneers. He leans forwards like a petulant child and squints at them with his beady eyes.

“I can no longer sense where Marco and Jean are,” Levi repeats with a clear, slightly pissed off tone that causes Reeves to stand straight again.

“Are they dead?”

And there falls the word that everyone was dreading to hear – the word that Levi refused to say.

It falls over the company like a putrid mist that seeps into their skin and clings to their throats like iron hooks. It’s wretched, unthinkable, too awful to imagine for any of them. The death of Prince Marco would bring ruin to both the kingdom and the hearts of every pure being present. The very concept of it sends chills down their spines.

“I don’t know,” Levi says curtly. “We’ll just have to keep looking for them until we find them.”

Reeves scrunches up his face at the thought of spending another moment in this hellhole, and then nods to the vampire to continue leading them into the deep, dark nothing.

Bracing himself for the worst, Levi sucks in a wasted breath and heads on forwards, not looking back once at the terrified faces that trail behind him. Each one looks to the other as if they were headed for their death, and then follows on obediently.

That is, except for the two guards dawdling silently at the back of the crowd, wistfully glancing at their surroundings as if they were likely to find any signs of life. Reiner and Bertholdt’s hands lace together in a fleeting moment whilst no one else is glancing their way and they stare at one another with eyes that could say a thousand words. But nothing is uttered from either of their mouths. They know each other too well and have been through too much together to not know.

It’s in this moment that they both realise how dangerous their own situation is. This could be _them_ if they’re not careful. _They_ could be the ones running from the king and stumbling into this great forest to die. _They_ could be the ones who could be running like criminals just for being who they are, yet they’re not. And that scares both of them.

Now look at them, both standing here searching for their friend who’s presumed dead – all because he couldn’t control who his heart fell for. It’s so similar to them that with a final glance, their bond breaks and they follow on, their eyes flitting around the darkness in search for Marco.

Then with a jolt, Bertholdt stops. “I think we should split up,” he calls out to Levi. “We’ll find them quicker that way.”

Those words travel through the air like arrows and puncture Levi’s quivering body. _No_ , he thinks, _I can’t lose any more of you_. He straightens, sharply turning to Bertholdt with dead, haggard eyes that envelope him in fear. “No one is splitting up,” he orders. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But, _sir_ —“

“I said no, Bertholdt. We stay together until we find Marco and Jean.”

**_If_** _we find them_ , Reiner’s thoughts lament.

Nodding solemnly, Bertholdt returns to his usual quiet self and the company continue on with a more grave tone about them. Their heads hang low like willow branches and their arms sway beside them lamely as they tread through the wood, all hope diminishing with each step they take.

Every one of them can feel the emptiness of the forest around them that consumes all their senses and leaves behind the pungent smell of death. To think of all those who had ventured into this place before them and had never left to tell the tale is a truly terrifying thought. Hardly any make it out of here alive, let alone sane – and yet here they all are, wandering through the trees as if they were buildings in hope of finding a boy who may not even be here.

Only two possibilities fill their minds: Marco is either dead or he’s managed to make it out of this dreaded place.

Either way, there isn’t much hope for any of them. If they do find Marco dead, they’ll have to take his body back to the king. Not a single one of them even dares to dream of how that would plan out. However, if they find that Marco’s escaped with Jean by his side, then they’ll go back to the king empty handed and the same fate would probably await them.

Not a single member of the guard even has a slight slither of hope that if Marco were to still be in this forest that he’s alive. Not a single one of them thinks they’ll find him here. Not a soul is hopeful that this will turn out well for any of them.

None of them even believe they’ll get out of here alive.

Bertholdt’s heart’s racing faster than all the others. As he towers over all, he scans all of their surroundings with a precision driven by panic that he’s never experienced before. Every broken branch, stuttered trail and disrupted undergrowth is perused thoroughly with his eyes darting around him until a weight on his chest causes him to stop dead in his tracks and stare on into the black.

Footsteps pause behind him and Reiner’s hand grips his shoulder tightly. “What is it?”

Eyes travel further into the darkness, almost becoming clouded by it and then Bertholdt runs into the trees, dismissing the crazed calls of his name echoing behind him. He tears through the broken branches that claw at his skin and stumbles on forwards, his chest heaving as the others all follow him with Levi storming ahead just a fraction behind him.

“Bertholdt stop!” Levi orders.

He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t stop. He runs as fast as he can, the weight on his chest getting heavier with each step until he comes to the clearing where it all happened and the smell of demise _reeks_.

“Levi!” he screams as he stares on at the sight before him. “ _Levi_!”

One by one the others all come rushing behind him and become frozen solid the moment their eyes adjust to the single ray of moonlight that almost blinds them. All except Reeves, who calmly approaches the front of the gobsmacked crowd and looks down in disgust at the two bodies lying at his feet.

He stares with a sneer at Jean and his lips curl in revulsion as he notices that his hand in intertwined with the prince’s. Although he looks dead, Reeves nudges his cheek with his shoe and watches as Jean’s head flops over to its side lifelessly. “The witch’s eyes are still open,” Reeves drones. “Check him.” When he turns his attention to the vampire beside him, he’s taken aback for a moment, taking in his reaction to the image before them.

Catatonic, hollow eyes stare down at the bodies below and Levi’s entire frame begins to tremor. Shaky breath leaves him in exasperated gasps that keep building up in his lungs as he looks on at the soft, brown eyes he’s cared for over all these years that are now closed and encased in a cold, pale body. Even though he had his fears the moment Marco’s heart stopped, actually facing them in a way such as this is almost too much for him.

The breath that’s been building within him finally breaks free as a traumatised scream. Levi falls to his knees at Marco’s side and cradles him in his arms as if he were only just coming into this world alive and unspoiled. He presses Marco’s head to his empty chest and weeps into his hair, holding him close like a child. The screams that tear through the back of his throat are too loud and consuming for him to even notice Petra kneeling by his side and holding Marco’s body with him.

Loss is the only thing that Levi feels and he becomes enveloped by it. Not only does he think about the boy in his arms, but the ones he lost before him – a wife, child, friends, lovers. Over three hundred years of just losing and emptiness and he thought that this time it would be different. Maybe this time the one he cared about would live forever.

But the truth about forever is that forever isn’t long at all.

Through Levi’s weeps, Petra’s comforting words over her own cries manage to calm him for the briefest of moments and when he finally gets his breath back, Levi looks to the second body – the boy that no one cries for or even gives a second thought. So a final, single tear is shed from Levi’s eyes for Jean and although he can’t express it, he thanks him silently for all he’s done.

Petra turns to Reeves through glassy eyes. “What do we do?”

“Bring the prince back to the castle,” he says gravely. “Leave the witch.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said ‘ _no’_ ,” Levi hisses, still holding Marco in his arms. “We take him with us.”

“Why should we? What’s _he_ done that makes him worth taking back?”

With this, Petra is the one to stand, staring Reeves down with stony eyes that make the entire crestfallen company shiver. “He’s done a lot more than you think. Jean’s no common criminal; he deserves a proper funeral.”

Reeves turns his nose up at the remark and slides his snake-like eyes over to Jean, splayed out on the ground utterly lifeless. “We’ll see what the King has to say about that.”

Not another word is said as Reeves turns to go, leaving behind the troop with the two bodies. As Levi’s still piecing together the fragments of his tortured soul, Petra takes charge through her heavy heart and tells Bertholdt to carry Jean whilst Levi takes care of Marco.

Bertholdt nods, moving further into the clearing and stepping past Marco as if he were cautious not to wake him, and lifts Jean’s limp body off the floor with ease. Levi then does the same with Marco but with a little more difficulty. He stumbles a few times, his knees weak, and then moves on without a word, feeling his tears dry and scar against his skin in the cool air.

Everyone else follows, all quieter than before and distraught. None of them can take their eyes off Marco and Jean’s wilted arms swaying lamely as they all walk back to civilisation. Although each one of them had a feeling that they knew what to expect the moment Levi’s breath began to falter, their hearts all sink further with each step, still surprised that nothing’s come out to disrupt their path. It’s almost as if the forest is allowing them to leave unharmed and without interference.

And that’s exactly what happens. The forest opens up for them, revealing an unclear path through the endless trees back to the rays of the breaking dawn and sun. They’d been searching all night for them.

One by one, the troops all stumble out of the forest, braches scratching at their skin as they move back into the light. It shines in their eyes and they squint into it, almost wishing to return to the darkness and the morbid atmosphere it brings. This is no time to be rejoicing in sunlight.

Levi looks at no one as he steadies his horse and leans Marco over its body. His arms flail on either side of the creature’s head and his peaceful face becomes hidden by a thick, black mane. Levi then hoists himself up into the saddle and pulls Marco to rest against his chest instead. His arms wrap around his waist as Marco’s head falls back against his shoulder and looks on to Bertholdt who has done the same with Jean.

Seeing that Levi is no longer in a frame of mind to lead, Annie takes over for a while, ordering everyone to head back to the castle. She can see the turrets poking above the thatched roves of Trost and the morning fog and dreads the moment she’ll step foot on the stone floors of the castle grounds. But she still carries on, starting ahead of everyone else, trying not to dwell on the loss that clouds her heart.

The ride back to the city is silent. Only the sound of hooves echoing over the grasslands and the panting horses can be heard by anyone. Sunken, dreary eyes look on at the city before them, and every being dreads the sickening smell of the streets that they’re all so used to. When they do finally ride through into the edge of the city, a large crowd has already drawn around the sides of the main road like vultures to a carcass.

Big, gaping eyes stare in awe as the guards ride slowly through the streets, not staring a single onlooker in the face. They only stare ahead at the stone prison where they’ll await their fate.

Murmurs and mutterings fill Levi’s ears and he grimaces at each one.

“Who’s that?” a girl whispers, pointing to Marco.

“No idea,” another answers. “But I think that’s the witch!”

Laughter stabs through Levi’s chest like a knife. “It’s about time,” another voice says. “The witch had it coming whether he liked it or not.”

And the murmurs and rumours only get louder the further they endeavour into the crowding alleys and roads. Every one of the spectators recognises Jean. Some laugh at him. Some cry. Some mock him. Some scream. It’s the same reactions over and over again, yet not a single cry is for Marco – the unknown boy whose identity is questioned by everyone he passes.

When the guard reaches the centre of the city, the familiar faces of friends begin to dawdle out of their houses and stare on at the scene. Then someone screams.

“Jean?!”

Levi looks up, following the voice, and sees Eren’s tanned face leaning out of his window only on his hands. His eyes widen in horror as Bertholdt and Jean ride past the house, his friend’s face blank and empty, the life utterly drained from him.

“Jean, no!” Eren yells, lurching forwards and nearly tumbling out of the window. Tears stream from his bright eyes and he screams at the corpse that passes him without a second glance. “You _promised_! You promised me you wouldn’t die! You can’t leave me like this!”

Even Levi’s cold heart wrenches at Eren’s screams. As his lip quivers, Levi looks up at Eren bawling over his windowsill with understanding eyes. Although Eren doesn’t hear him or see him, Levi whispers a quiet, compassionate, “I’m sorry.”

The cries only become worse when he sees Marco’s body following shortly behind Jean’s and a pair of arms circle around Eren’s waist and pull him back into his room. Only his cries are heard from the house and the troop carries on despite the crowd’s growing realisation. But Levi can’t help but listen, knowing full well what Eren’s feeling.

“That’s my friend!” his scream echoes. “That’s my best friend!”

As Eren’s yells and cries fade into nothing, Levi wraps his arms around Marco a little tighter, hoping that wherever he is, he’ll somehow be able to feel it.

 

* * *

 

In a somewhere not too far away from where you are now, tucked away in the tiniest crevice of time and space, Marco Bodt stands alone at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the land he’s been calling home for what must be days by now. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Calm, breathing, yet very much dead, he gazes out over the horizon of lush, green trees and shimmering waters, only to be left feeling empty and cold. Then he slowly lifts up the leather of his armour that’s almost been sewn into his skin, and runs his fingers over the bleeding wound in his chest.

He remembers his body dying almost too clearly for his own liking. His last memory of the love of his life screaming to save both of them resounds in his head on repeat and he can’t shake the feeling he felt when his last breath slipped past his lips and he was brought here.

He still remembers the conversation he had with the one that took him, even though it feels like it happened years ago.

“It’s only temporary,” Ymir had told him. “There are some things that need to be taken care of before you can move on.”

Marco had stared out at the view he’s currently staring at now and sighed when she’d said that. This place was designed to look similar to Stohess to make him feel better about dying, but without Jean, Marco thought he would have rather gone back to Trost than be alone here. “But what if I don’t want to move on?” he’d asked, staring solemnly at the false landscape, created entirely from his own imagination.

“You’ll have to. I can’t keep you here forever and I can’t just go and kill Jean just so you’re not lonely.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Marco had murmured. But in fact, he didn’t really know what he meant. Dying tends to have that effect on people. It makes them confused and muddled, much like the ones who mourn them.

And yet he’s still here, still alone and praying that Jean’s alright. It’s all he’s been able to think about ever since he got here and realised he was alone.

With a final look at his surroundings, Marco turns away from the landscape before him and makes his way towards the towering forest behind him. Thankfully for him, this forest isn’t inhabited by creatures of the unknown, but Marco can’t stop the shiver that spikes his spine each time a twig snaps as he walks.

Comfort only comes to him when the roof of the shop he knows so well surfaces through the tree trunks and he smiles, even though he’s the only one in this place. He rushes through the undergrowth, craving home and soon reaches the door, fumbling desperately with the handle until it opens and he falls into the thick smell of burning lavender.

The door shuts closed and the sound echoes through the empty, uninhabited shop. Not a soul except Marco’s dwells here and although he loves this place, filled with its glorious memories, he’s beginning to hate the loneliness that comes with it.

But he’s glad it was him and not Jean.

Apart from its location and its surroundings, it’s exactly the same as Jean’s, down to the very last crystal. Marco has the feeling that’s he’s going to be here for longer than Ymir promised, so he may as well stay somewhere he feels at home. And this was the only place he could think of.

To keep his mind at ease, Marco likes to act as if Jean’s really here with him. The first thing he does when he walks through the door is prepare a meal for two. And somehow, there’s always enough food to spare.

Despite knowing that he doesn’t really need to eat it, Marco makes two meals and sits in front of the fire alone next to an untouched plate of food. He watches silently as the embers dance around one another, twisting and flitting through the kindle wood like he and Jean did in Maria’s that one night where he got so dizzy he couldn’t feel his feet.

Still reminiscing, Marco cleans up, leaving the untouched plate of food out for Jean and goes to bed alone, missing the feeling of someone else’s touch and whispers of sweet dreams.

* * *

 

Every night that he spends here feels like years slipping away from him. He wakes up every morning feeling older, more tired than the previous day. And this one is no different. He even checks his hands to see if they’re wrinkled yet. Much to his relief, they’re not. Both of them are still spattered with the freckles of his youth that Jean loved so much, set against his pale skin that’s becoming clearer by the day.

He goes downstairs trying not to glance at his reflection.

The shop still looks the same, undisturbed by the shadows that once haunted the crevices and shelves. This place only reminds him of a simpler time when all of this was how he sees it now. The hole in his chest still remains, though.

Knowing that breakfast is no longer needed now that he’s no longer living, Marco goes straight out of the front door. He does this every now and then to remind himself that nothing’s permanent – that eventually, he’ll have to leave this empty paradise behind too.

Marco’s favourite thing about this place is how his bare feet move over the undergrowth with ease, not tensing at each moment to see if the shadows will curl around his ankles and take him. He can breathe. Although he doesn’t need it anymore, he does it anyway, taking in the crisp air that tastes like summer even though he knows it’s winter in Trost. He can run through the trees, knowing he’ll get to the other side and see something beautiful.

He decides to not dwell on his death. He just prays that one day Jean will see the same sunrise that he can see streaking through the canopy of branches as he rushes towards the cliff. He prays that one day Jean will break through the trees that he is right now and stare in awe as the sun rises over the sea of green below him, as he stands with his chest empty on the edge of the towering cliff. He hopes that the sight he sees now will fill his love with as much hope as he feels now.

“Marco?”

His breath catches in his throat.  The amount of times he’s heard that voice say his names makes him believe that he’s hearing things. So he keeps watching the sun as it slowly ascends over the trees, familiarising himself with that voice that he’s missed so much even though it’s long gone.

“Marco.”

This time, he feels touch: a gentle brush of skin ghosting over his neck that makes him shiver. He can _feel_ a presence behind him that he’s missed so badly for what seems like years, but has only been a few moments in reality.  The twitch in his stomach tells him not to turn around, warning him that it’ll be worse if he does – that if he’s not really there, then this has all been wasted. He’d only want to go back and when it comes to it, moving on will be all the more painful.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says.

“You’re not here,” Marco replies. “You lived.”

The presence behind him moves, and Jean replaces the sun, gazing at him with wide, glazed eyes and a small smile. “If I lived, then how come I’m here?”

Any breath that was in Marco’s lungs before escapes him in a matter of fleeting moments and leaves his chest hollow as he flings himself into Jean’s arms, tears clawing at the back of his throat. When he feels his love’s arms around him, Marco cries into Jean’s shoulder. “How?” he wails. “I thought I saved you.”

“You did,” Jean’s breath quivers, tightening his hold around Marco’s waist. “I just couldn’t save myself.”

The two reunited souls stand in the beaming sunlight together, not noticing the third, ominous presence lurking within the trees. She stares at them with a weight on her chest, hoping that what happens next won’t make them both hate her for what she’s about to do.

* * *

 

They continue as if they’d never died. They carry on for what feels like months. The feeling of being together once again outweighs the notion that their time is running out, and that one day, they will leave this place. Neither of them knows where, though.

But they try not to think about it. Both of them try to live each moment that passes as if they were both alive and in Stohess. Even though they know they aren’t and the knowing weighs heavy on their heads, they push it aside of them and focus on how the sun shines through the window every morning when they wake up in each other’s arms, or how good it feels to fall asleep to the sound of someone else’s breath against their backs.

Marco doesn’t even notice the nights where Jean disappears whilst he’s asleep.

That is, until the sound of raised voices stirs him awake one evening, and Marco opens his eyes to find the bed empty and Jean’s heated yells echoing outside.

Without a second thought, Marco creeps out from under the sheets and crouches by the window, looking out into the night, following his love’s voice.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jean snaps. “I’ve only been here for a few days.” He storms over the broken, twisted ground with his hand raking through his hair and his chest heaving.

“You haven’t even been here a _day_ , Jean,” a woman’s voice says sternly. “Neither has Marco.”

“What do you mean?”

Marco’s eyes flicker through the night to try and find the source of the woman’s voice, but he can’t see her. He only hears the way her cold eyes make Jean’s heart race and his mind curl.

“Time passes here much faster than it does in reality,” the woman says. “In fact, you and Marco have only been dead for maybe an hour or so.”

With this, Jean comes to a stop, letting his wasted breath leave him as he stares out into the uninhabited forest. His mind’s leading him astray, making him think of all sorts of possibilities as to why she’s really here. Sucking in his gut, he tries to come up with the right words to say, but they escape as only a mere plea. “We died, that’s the end of it. Let us go.”

“I can’t.”

“You _can_ ,” he begs, gazing up desperately into the trees. Marco follows his line of sight until he spots a feathered silhouette sitting on a thick branch with her arms folded. “You brought us here, so you can let us go too.”

“There are things that need to be taken care of, Jean.”

“Like what?!”

The feathered being sighs, releasing her arms from their hold and towering over Jean a little more. Even though he can’t see her eyes, Marco’s skin pricks from the change of tone that descends over the clearing in front of the house.

“Only Marco was meant to die in that forest,” she growls. “You were not supposed to follow.”

Jean stays silent, only letting his breath falter a little as he stares up into the trees with sorrow clinging to the corners of his eyes.

“I can’t move you on from this place because you’re not supposed to be dead. Trust me, I’ve tried to move both of you but neither of you are going any time soon.”

“Then why can’t Marco move on?”

“I was hoping _you’d_ be able to tell me.”

A sense of pride seems to rush over Jean’s features. His shoulders become a little broader when he realises that this being doesn’t know something. And then he smiles, giving off a false sense of awareness that this being doesn’t have.

He grins. “I know nothing.”

Growling begins to emit from the trees and the feathered woman jumps from her perch, landing perfectly on her feet in front of Jean. She’s shorter than him, but her wings only add to her terrifying authority and terror she carries with her. Marco instantly recognises her.

“You must know something,” Ymir breathes, almost begging Jean as she grabs him by the collar and pulls him towards her. “Things like this don’t just _happen_ , witch. Thing like this have _never_ happened.”

“I don’t know anything!” Jean snarls, pushing her away from him. “You’ll just have to keep us here if you can’t make us move on because we are _not_ going back to Trost.”

Ymir goes silent, her wings growing tense and rigid as the panic within her rises. For the first time in years, she looks clueless, almost scared.

Things like this don’t just _happen_.

Marco can’t believe a word he’s hearing. Still trying to cling onto the windowsill, he slumps against the wall with his head hanging back against it and heaves. Thoughts rush around his head like a whirlwind and he tries to gather his reasoning.

This entire time, _he_ was the one who was meant to die. It was never meant to be Jean. But here they both are – both dead and both unable to move on from wherever this place is.

But then Marco begins to question things further.

Just _how_ exactly did Jean die? As far as Marco can remember, Jean never said how he ended up here. He just showed up. And the question of _why_ neither of them can move on resounds in his head like a broken melody. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

At least he’ll stay with Jean if they’re stuck here.

“Tell me what happened,” Ymir snaps, her voice cutting swiftly through the air and hitting Jean in the chest. The sharpness of her voice takes him aback and he stares at her with muddled eyes.

“What?”

“When you died… tell me what happened.”

The question hangs on the air for a moment, becoming absorbed by Jean’s misperception and Marco’s curiosity. Then, Jean almost sucks it into his chest with a deep breath as he casts his mind back to the moment his life ended and he came here.

His eyes shift to the floor nervously. It’s all a blur to him. Nothing about the final moments of that night is clear and all he sees his the moment he lost Marco. The rest is blinded by grief and anger.

“I-I don’t know,” he stammers. “I don’t remember.”

“Try harder.”

His chest fills again as he attempts to clear his head of the grief and rage that filled him in his final seconds. “I saw a light,” he says. “I was screaming and crying until I felt exhausted. And then this bright light appeared in front of me. Next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

Ymir’s entire body becomes rigid and tense as her wings ruffle. Panicked, she glances around the clearing with shaken breath and the moonlight in her eyes reflects nothing but _fear_. Then her eyes settle on Marco’s fingertips clinging to the windowsill out of fright and she sighs, knowing what she must do.

It weighs heavy like stone as she makes her final decision. They’ll both despise her for it, but it needs to be done. After all, things like this don’t just _happen_ – tampering with the powers that be is involved. And although they may not know it, Ymir has a good idea of who’s the culprit.

Unbeknownst to them, they’re the ones who have to put things right.

If only they knew what they’d done.

“Jean I _have_ to send you both back.”

“ _Why_?!” Jean yells. “Just keep us here!”

Ymir raises a single eyebrow at him and he instantly calms himself. _He_ should know better than anyone not to fuck with a war goddess. “I don’t think you quite understand just how dangerous the situation you’re in actually is. You’ve got some business that needs to be taken care of.”

“Such as?”

“You need to return the balance,” Ymir says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve both left Trost whilst leaving behind some unfinished business and you _both_ need to go and put it right.”

Upon hearing this, Marco stands from his hiding place so he’s in full view of both beings outside. He looks down at Jean with wide, questioning eyes and his lover can only return a look of confusion and disbelief. Something tells Marco that Jean knew he was listening the whole time.

“What happens if we don’t go back?” Marco calls, bracing himself for the bad news he knows is coming.

“Do you want a repeat of The Darkness?” Ymir asks.

Both Jean and Marco shake their heads.

“Then since someone with Jean’s powers is no longer around that scenario seems very likely. That is why you must go back and sort it out.”

Jean’s shoulders fall as he remembers his encounter with his wicked counterpart. He remembers how much it hurt to destroy him and can’t bear to think of placing that burden on someone else.

Marco grips the window frame, leaning out further into the night air. “I thought Jean killed The Darkness.”

“He did.”

“Then why would there be a repeat? If he’s dead shouldn’t that be the end of it?”

Ymir sighs and then turns her attention entirely to Marco. “There are thousands of worlds in this universe, Marco. Each one is different. The Darkness came from a world where you didn’t exist and the shadows managed to get to him and corrupt him—“ Jean’s head lowers almost in shame as shivers run down his spine. That could have been him. “—Luckily, the Jean you and I know has _you_ to chase the shadows away…” She trails off, her face becoming more solemn as she finally reaches her point. “However, I fear that there are other worlds where you don’t exist, Marco, and therefore are unable to stop the shadows from reaching Jean. So there is a possibility of The Darkness coming back.”

All falls quiet as both Jean and Marco begin to realise things in their own time.

To Jean, this all makes sense. Every time the shadows have come for him, Marco’s always been there to stop them. Even when they were wrapped around his neck and squeezing the life out of him, just the thought of Marco warded them away. Why that is, Jean has no idea. But he figures that Ymir won’t tell him.

Marco on the other hand can’t find a single grain of understanding in all of this. His head is still reeling from the thought of something like The Darkness _returning_ and no one being there to stop him because Jean’s dead. Instead of understanding what he is, Marco takes on the responsibility to go back to the living world – a place that he no longer feels familiar with as his body aches as if it’s been here for years.

Jean takes a step towards Ymir. “So what do you want us to do?”

“Do what you think is right,” she says, slowly beginning to unfurl her wings. “Things have happened since you died and you need to set the balance back to the way it was.” When her wings are free and open she stands in the space between the risen Marco and grounded Jean, glaring at them one last time with eyes that make their mouths dry. “There is only one more thing I can say to you before I send you back,” she warns. “If you do not do what is expected of you, the balance will not be restored and—“

“I get it,” Jean sighs. “The Darkness will come back, the world will end, we all die and so on.”

“Exactly,” Ymir grins.

Just as she sucks in a breath her wings begin to shine, Marco cuts in. “Wait!” he shouts, still resting uneasy against the support of the window frame.

Ymir’s icy glare falls on him, only made more terrifying by the brilliance of her feathers. “What?” she snaps.

“How will we know what to do to set the balance right?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as if she were speaking to the village idiot, raising her arms to her side and keeping her eyes on Marco. “That’s for you to find out,” she grins.

Before anyone can say another word, Ymir belts an almighty screech from her lungs that tears through the atmosphere and the place that Marco had imagined to be so beautiful becomes nothing but a vision of white and screaming.

He can feel himself falling and clawing at the air around him. But his fingers grab at nothing and he can hear Jean’s cries ringing in his ears. He tries to call out but he finds that he has no voice.

It’s not until he hits his head on something hard and his body becomes heavy that the yells in his ears cease.

 

* * *

 

** Marco **

Breath chokes me and my eyes shoot open, gasping for air as I’m hit in the face with reality. My eyes see nothing but cracked stone and I can’t find my voice to shout out to anyone around me. Nothing’s clear. My chest is ablaze. My body feels numb as if it’s been abandoned for years and I can’t feel anything.

Desperately, my hands feel around me, and at first I feel nothing. But as my senses begin to come back to me after death, the comforting feeling of something soft caresses the dents engrained in my fingertips and I sink into the mattress beneath me.

It takes me what feels like an eternity to get my lungs working again and my heart to steady. Once it does and I’m left with only a slight tremor in my breath, I look up at the stone above me and my heart begins to relax.

The familiar thirty four cracks that I’ve counted so many times before stare back at me from my resting place and I’m almost thankful to be back somewhere I know instead of a vast forest teaming with things that want to kill me.

At least they found my body and cared enough to bring it back here instead of leaving me to rot.

I sit up, my back still stiff and rigid from not being used for god knows how long and wince as something hard and itchy scrapes along my back. When I move my shoulders, the same sensation scratches my skin and I look down to see black velvet adorned with gold thread draped over my body.

It’s soft to the touch, but the seams at the limbs scratch me each time I so much as breathe. Assuming as this is my funeral tunic, I don’t think the tailor who made this was really thinking about whether it would be itchy, seeing as I’m meant to be dead. The dead don’t really tend to complain about those things.

Confident that my legs won’t fail me, I swing them over the side of the bed and stand up, remembering _why_ I’ve been brought back here. Time is slipping through my fingers faster than blood rushes through my body and I can’t waste another moment of it.

I need to find Jean and I need to set things right.

My heart rams against my chest as I stare around my undisturbed room, taking note of how the sun shining in through the window makes everything shine, and I take in a deep breath. I’m not sure how I’m going to do it, but I need to stop my own funeral from going ahead. I can hear voices trailing through the corridors and they’re all here for me.

That’s just what happens when someone dies. I remember it happening to my mother. Her body was put on display in her room whilst friends and long-lost relatives came to say their final goodbyes.

Every one of them was distraught the moment they saw her body, almost as if they were hoping that she was still alive. I remember them all crying by her side until they were told to move on so she could be taken to her burial place. There was a procession through the city beforehand. The whole town came out and wore their best clothes so they could watch her pass. No one said a word that day as they mourned her passing.

I wonder if anyone would have done that for me.

Casting those thoughts behind me, I focus on the task that Ymir gave me and storm out of my room.

If they found me and brought me back to the castle, they must have found Jean too… Now the only problem is to find him. And I think I know exactly who will know of his whereabouts.

I start running down the stone halls, my legs remembering their function and anger boils in my gut, spurring me on like fuel as the pictures on the walls become nothing but coloured blurs that dash past me. It’s desperation. I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast before. The itching sensation caused by my tunic doesn’t even bother me anymore as the only thing I can think about is finding Jean.

I’m running so fast that the mourners I pass don’t even realise it’s me. None of the guards even give me a second look. Even if they did, I wouldn’t care. I’m getting closer to the melody of melancholy chorus coming from the Great Hall in my memory and it’s getting louder by the moment.

All of this has to end and I can only do that if I find Jean.

Usually when I reach the giant doors of the Great Hall, I stop and prepare myself upon entering… but not this time. Anger’s coursing through me like a burning fire and I slam my hands against the doors, forcing them open and I’m instantly blinded by the glorious light that shines through the stained glass windows.

The moment I’m exposed to the confines of the Great Hall and the giant doors creak open with a ‘clang’, the grand canticle that was singing funeral chants for my soul ceases immediately. At the pause to the music, the vast number of friends and relatives clothed in dull, dismal colours all turn their heads towards the sound that disturbed their gathering.

I eye the king straight away. He’s the only one dressed in colour – red. His smile drops the moment he sees me and all becomes deathly silent. I can hear the rising breaths of those around me as they slowly begin to recognise my face, despite not seeing me in years.

The sickening sensation that I haven’t felt since my birthday comes to me again as all eyes fall on me.

Gasps echo across the room as I stride in, fully alive, clothed in my funeral robe. The itching starts again, so in one swift tug, I pull the black, ill-omened tunic over my head and throw it to the floor. This elicits even more cries of woe from my audience as my steps bring me closer to the king who started all of this in the first place.

He looks lost for words, the rest of his features unreadable, and he gapes at me storming towards him with a face like death.

“M-Marco?” he stammers pathetically, leaning forwards over his full table of food. “You’re _alive_?”

Now I can’t see anyone else in the room, not even my uncle. I only see the king and I no longer care of any punishment I could possibly receive. I’ve died once already. What could be worse than that?

Ignoring his blabbers of disbelief, I finally reach him and crash my hands on the table in front of him, making the plates shake and the company shriek. “Where is he?” I hiss, glaring into the king’s eyes with only hatred and rage in my own.

“Y-you died? Marco you’re—“

“Where is he?!” I yell, slamming my hands down again. The gasps of horror that I cause do nothing to me. If anything, they’re all encouraging my actions and the adrenaline won’t let me stop any time soon. “What have you done to him?”

The king shakes and scurries deeper into his seat, shaking his head frantically at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But I can see it in his eyes. He _knows_.

“Tell me where he is!” I shriek, my voice scratching against every syllable and I feel my eyes begin to cloud with cries. “You can’t have left him there!”

“He’s in the dungeons.”

Breath tumbles from my lungs like a waterfall and I look to my side to see Levi staring at me with uncertain eyes that almost seem scared, yet I know that it was his voice.

Still gazing at me in a subdued horror, he nods, telling me to go before the king comes to his senses. For a moment, I look back to him with eyes that I hope convey my thanks to him, no matter how terrified he may be of me, and then I turn away from all of them.

I start running again, my heart racing as shouts of my name echo behind me as their shock someone unfreezes them and makes their limbs move once more. But as I run towards the dungeons, my name soon gets blanked out by my own screams of Jean’s.

We’ve got to set things right, even though we don’t know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Why does doing the right thing hurt this much?
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws).
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	15. To Die For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so uh it's been 5 months since the last update... Sorry about that! I've been really busy with school and everything but I'm back on track now and it's all good!  
> I have two lovely people I'd like to thank, so thank you to [otakuchan449](http://otakuchan449.tumblr.com/) for creating [my favourite scene from the whole fic (it's from chapter 4)](http://chibichan449.tumblr.com/post/121388271694/i-tried-my-best-to-do-livsws-favourite-scene-from) and also to [leamonadefreak](http://leamonadefreak.tumblr.com/) for drawing [this awesome Marco sketch](http://leamonadefreak.tumblr.com/post/131769435776/for-livsws-tws-marco-just-wants-to-be-free) and [this amazing (and cute) array of doodles!](http://leamonadefreak.tumblr.com/post/130290947146/so-im-read-the-witchs-son-by-livsws-im-almost) Thank you both so much!  
> Okay so here are your warnings (and some of you aren't going to like these): blood, violence, whipping, a lot of crying and execution
> 
> Enjoy!

The first person to notice the rise and fall of my chest and the presence of breath coming from my lips was Bertholdt. He was carrying me over gravel when he realised that I was alive once more. Once hearing the crunch of gravel under his boots and the faint sway of my limp arm as he carried me, I opened my eyes and stared up at him. Upon noticing my rise from the dead, he screamed and dropped me – a perfectly natural reaction. I landed on my back and my head smacked against the hard floor and Bertholdt stood over me with wide, startled eyes that made him look as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“Jean?” he exhaled. “You’re alive?” Rubbing my head and taking in my surroundings, I sat up, squinting into the sunlight only to be blocked by Bertholdt’s gigantic shadow.

"Where’s Marco?” I demand, staggering upwards.

It was that moment when I realised where I was. The overpowering walls of the castle seemed to tower over me higher than usual and the sound of the city seemed further away than ever. Everywhere I looked there were guards and figures in forest green capes, all of them looking crestfallen and broken. There was nowhere to run and I still didn’t know where Marco was – Bertholdt was too busy babbling about how I’m alive to even comprehend what I asked him.

“J-Jean you’re _alive_ ,” Bertholdt stammered. “Y-you were _dead_. I checked your pulse; I couldn’t feel you breathing; y-you were dead next to Marco and--"

Guards that weren’t singled out by the colour of their capes began to notice that Bertholdt had stopped moving. They only grew concerned for a moment, which made me freeze upon instinct. They went back to looking sorry for themselves as soon as Bertholdt took a step towards me, unknowingly concealing me from the sight of those I didn’t trust.

“Bertholdt, listen to me,” I pleaded, grabbing his shoulders and keeping my eyes set hard on my surroundings. “You need to tell me where to find Marco. I need to get him out of here.”

He had only just opened his mouth when I was spotted.

A short, stumpy man with beady eyes locked on to me and recognised my face. His face contorted into an array of emotions, racing from shock to pure rage. Stuttering, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “He’s alive! The witch is alive!”

My feet began to move under me as heads turned and guards that weren’t marked with my trust started to run after me under the short man’s instructions. Bertholdt stayed put, still stunned by my survival as men and women clad in silver stormed past him.  
I didn’t make it far until I was slammed into the ground.

Two guards hoisted me off the floor and locked my arms into place as the short man sauntered towards me with a smug look on his face. Somehow, he wasn’t even bothered about my survival; he was more interested in how good he’d look to the king because he’d captured me.

Upon hearing all the commotion, I was relieved to see a familiar face emerging through the shadows the castle cast over the grounds. His grey eyes were darker than I’ve ever seen them as if the light in his life had utterly disappeared and he hung his head low in his grief.  
Others followed him out of the shadows, each one coming towards the crowd that had formed around me. A flash of a golden crown made my heart sink and the people in front of me soon parted in waves as they made way for the king.

“All hail King William!” a guard squawked, followed by the echo of the exact same words from everyone else around me.  
Never in all my days did I ever think that I would one day stand in front of the king – especially not in these circumstances. But there I was, looking upon him clear as day as he glared at me as if I were some kind of unnecessary nuisance to him.

Yet the look on his face was nothing compared to the expression worn by the vampire standing behind him. With wide, suddenly hopeful eyes and a slack jaw, the colour began gradually returning to Levi’s face as he realised that there was hope for Marco after all.

“So this is the thing that corrupted my son?” the king sneered, looking me up and down and judging my every motion. “I thought you were dead.”

I huffed. “I was until a war goddess sent me back to fulfil my purpose in this shithole.”

To that, those around me that didn’t understand what’s really beyond the trees laughed. They must have all thought I was insane.

Sniggering, the king took a step towards me so there was nothing in my line of vision except his bulbous blue eyes and his rotting teeth. “Well if your purpose was to kill my son then you’ve done your job.”

“I didn’t kill…” It was the mould of shadows wearing my face that killed him – not me.

But none of it mattered anymore. I knew what would happen soon – I just didn’t want to spoil the surprise. I merely gave Levi a subtle nod, letting him know that it would all be fine, and that seemed to put him at ease for a moment. It was just a waiting game now.

Sharp hands grabbed my shoulders and I was shaken out of my daze. The king growled at me, digging his nails into my arms and he breathed a pungent stink over me that made me sick to the stomach. “You’re going to die, witch,” he hissed. “You’re going to be executed for your crimes and I will make sure that it’s a very slow and painful death for you.”

“Since when was falling in love a crime?”

“Since you corrupted my son with sex and witchcraft!”

I shrugged. “It _was_ good sex.”

I got a good punch in the stomach for that.

Despite the throbbing pain in my abdomen, I looked up at the king with a shit-eating grin slapped across my face. I knew that this would be my only opportunity to really fuck with the king, so I took it.

Overcome with anger, he didn’t even let me stand before he kicked me in the face. The only force keeping me from flying backwards was the grip on my arms from the two guards holding me in place.

I could feel the blood dripping from my nose and running over my lips. The taste of liquid copper pierced my tongue and it sparked my delayed reaction. Almost growling like an animal, I pushed and shoved against my human restraints and snapped at the king, who did nothing but stand and watch me as if I were an attraction. The guards’ grip on me was too strong for me to break past, but whatever words came out of my mouth during that episode seemed to have an effect on the king. His face slowly began to drop from its previous smirk and he soon became grey with worry.

He shooed me away kicking and screaming as he turned his back and hurried to the confines of the castle.

“When this is all over,” I remember screaming as I was dragged away, “you will fall, _King_ , and I will watch you do so from a better place with Marco by my side!”

That was the last coherent sentence I made before I was plunged into darkness.

* * *

  
“You have to let me out.”

“Why? So you can escape?”

“It’s a matter of life and death,” I plead, rattling on the cool metal bars in front of me. I’ve realised that there’s no use in lying to get myself out of situations anymore. No one would believe me anyway.

The guard laughs at me, casually swinging the keys to my cell cruelly around his index finger whilst not taking his eyes off me in case I try some “magic bullshit”.

My head flops forward and I rest it on the bars, the cold giving me some kind of temporary relief, and I close my eyes whilst I try to think of how to get me and Marco the fuck out of this place. “ _Please_ ,” I beg, looking up at him. “People are going to _die_ if I don’t get out of here.”

The guard just shrugs.

I sigh. “Can’t you at least send Prince Marco down here to speak to me?”

At that, the metal clanking of the keys ceases and they dangle around his finger lifelessly. He raises an eyebrow at me and then slowly leans forward. “Haven’t you heard?” he asks. “The Prince is _dead_. Lance Corporal Levi found no pulse when the two of you were found.”

He won’t be for long. It’s just a matter of time.

When his words don’t elicit a reply from me, the guard snorts. “I would have thought you’d be a little more upset than that.”  
“I’ve had my time for mourning. I watched him die.”

“Did you see what killed him?”

I nod, but don’t answer. The Darkness is the last person I want to be thinking about in this situation and I’d sound insane if I attempted to describe the thing that ended Marco’s life instead of my own.

Pondering at my sudden silence, the guard leans back against the stone wall and begins to swing the keys once again, the clanking metal screaming in my head each time it completes a cycle. The nothingness is ripping me from the inside out. But until Marco wakes up, there’s nothing I can do.

Cool air ripples over my bare skin and the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prick. With the sudden absence of my tunic after I’d been stripped and no one to distract me from myself, it’s only now that I realise just how thin and pallid I’ve become over these last few months. The solid curve of my ribs protrudes out of my white skin like jagged, uneven edges that shouldn’t be there and the darker hairs on my body look out of place and clumped with cold. Without even seeing my face I can tell that I look ill. I probably have done for weeks.

It almost amazes me how Marco could have cared for a withering mess of a body such as this one.

Echoes from above jolt and ruin the steady rhythm of the jangling keys. The uneven beat makes my skin crawl and it only becomes more distorted. The echoes get faster each time the keys clang together and the sound gets sharper as it comes closer. A muffled cry soon adds to the irregular tempo and my heart skips a beat as hope returns to my body, almost making my skin visibly pinker when the call of my name ringing down the stone stairs finally reaches me.

My name’s called again, pin-pricked with agony as the metal gates of the dungeon that I was dragged through earlier rattle and eventually open. Orders and demands are shouted and confused cries all become the same white noise as I reply to the voice calling out to me.

“Marco?”

Gripping the hinges of my cell, my chest fills with air as he comes running down the dingy, barred hall with a glare on his face that Death would be proud of, followed by a mob of crazed and horrified guards.

“Prince Marco?!” one shrieks as he passes her. “You’re alive?!”

He doesn’t answer her. He doesn’t give any of them an answer.

His footsteps come to a halt just before he reaches me and the slow, agonising echo of his breath against the cold, empty hollow of this place comes ever closer. Just the sound of him breathes life and light into this desolate place and it makes the grip on my metal cage falter. He slows down in front of my cell, relieved to see me once again. He smiles bright and wide, as if we were only just meeting for the first time and his beaming eyes fill me with hope once more. I can see Stohess shining in the reflection of his abyss.

With the upmost caution, as if wondering if this is all real, he puts his arm through the bars and strokes my cheek with a smile on his face. My chest heaves at his touch once again and I bury myself into the palm of his hand, clasping it in my own and kissing each of his fingertips. His eyes light up when I look at him and stars whirl within the comforting, deep brown that’s cast over me.

“Thank heavens, you’re alright,” he smiles, not taking his dizzying gaze off of me. His thumb glides over my crooked, calloused fingers in a smooth motion that, despite the action being so small, makes my head spin.

I squeeze his hand in mine to reassure him that I really am alright, although cold. “I’m fine now,” I beam, bathing in his light that’s brighter than ever. “You don’t look so bad yourself, despite dying.”

He laughs. “Sure I do.”

“No, really – you’re practically glowing.” And he really is. I can see the rays shining from his spotted skin. He’s lighting up the whole place and everyone can see it.

His eyes scan over his skin for a moment, but he doesn’t see it like I do. He simply laughs it off and turns to the guard with the keys to my cell, his face growing sterner and darker with a simple turn of his neck.

“Release him.”

The guard’s eyes widen in shock and his hands begin to fumble with the mass of clanking metal in his hand. “B-but, Your Highness—“

“I said,” Marco growls, “ _release_ him. That’s an order.”

Just as the guard begins to step towards my cage, another voice booms down the stone stairs.

“Don’t you _dare_.”

Every living soul in the room freezes as the voice pierces through our chests and shakes the stone foundations that this castle was built on. But something in Marco’s changed and he blanks the demands of the king entirely, repeating his order to the guard with much darker eyes and a harsher tone.

Conflicted, confused eyes stare back at Marco and then flit back towards the ever-growing presence of the king, then back to Marco. This action repeats itself for quite some time. He looks like he’s about to combust when a firm hand grasps his shoulder and the keys are snatched from him like a parent taking away a child’s toy.

King William storms over to the space between Marco and me and dangles the keys in the air with a sly smirk on his face that I’d quite happily punch away if I could reach. He turns to Marco and keeps his back to me as if he’s pretending that I don’t exist and drags out the motion of him tying the jangle of keys to his belt and securing them in place.  
The pure rage on Marco’s face is only accentuated more by the shadows seeping out of the cracks and dents of his structure that make him seem even taller and more terrifying than ever. But the king takes no notice.

“As much as I’m thankful that you’re alive,” he says, “that doesn’t mean that miracles suddenly make you the ruler of this kingdom. I decide who is and isn’t released.”

“Jean has done nothing wrong.”

“We’ll see what the Royal Court has to say about that.”

I scoff. “And by the Royal Court, you mean _you_ , right?”

The king takes a single, disgusted glance and turns his nose up at me without an answer. I know just from that look that he’s already planned my fate and I need to start planning mine and Marco’s way out of here.

“Trial will be held in three days,” he announces. “I’ll make sure the entire city is there to watch your fate come to light.”

For the first time today, I don’t shudder from the cold, but from the sinister glare in the king’s eyes as he walks away without another word. Behind him, he leaves a mob of dumbfounded guards, including Levi who’s appeared out of nowhere, and Marco, looking distraught and staring into space. His glassy eyes stare at me as if they’re about to break. Even he can see my fate burning in the king’s eyes.

“Disband,” Levi snaps. “I’ll take care of things from here.”

At once, the guards disperse back to their original positions, littered up and down the stone hallway, still staring terrified at Marco. He takes no notice of the way they all scrutinise him, wondering if he really is alive or not, he just continues to shake in his own skin at the thought of what could happen to us.

A comforting hand is placed on Marco’s shoulder and Levi attempts to get his attention away from the floor. “Nothing’s going to happen to Jean. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“ _How_?” I hiss. “Didn’t you see the way he looked at me? He’ll have my head on a spike even if it’s the last thing he’ll do.”

“Don’t say that,” Marco whimpers, only just audible. “We’ll find a way.”

The tone of his voice doesn’t sound convinced. It’s hollow, empty hope that he’s only saying to keep himself from seeing our fate. Even Levi sees it and the dark, icy expression he usually wears on his face melts away when he sees how distressed Marco is. He knows how badly we want to escape this place and he doesn’t know what to do.

One wasted breath later, and his usual expression returns and he looks to me with sincere eyes. “I’ll see what I can do, Jean. It’ll be difficult, but I may be able to convince Erwin to talk to the king and spare you the death penalty.”

_Death penalty_. Those two words send chills through to my very core and I feel the way that Marco’s entire body flinches at the thought of death coming between us once again.  
We’ve died once already and we beat death. Who’s to say we can’t do it again?

“What will I get instead of death?”

Levi shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he murmurs.

He looks at Marco once more in an attempt to reassure him and then leaves the two of us alone. Yet even in the companionable silence, I still hear all of Marco’s worst fears drifting in his mind and crawling through his blood until his limbs shake.

“You can’t give up, Marco.”

“I’m not,” he says emptily. “I just can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

My hands slide down the bars and I fall to the floor as Marco’s emotions transpire into my own. I sit on the hard stone floor and stare through the metal as Marco joins me, clasping his hands over my own around the cell bars. He’s so close to me yet I feel as if he’s an eternity away. With nothing but a wall of metal between us, my eyes see him but my body aches for him and I can’t touch him how I used to. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and all the routes to get to it, but Marco’s weak and tired and I don’t think he can see the light anymore. But I can. And it’s within him.

His head snaps up and he grips me harder. “Use your powers,” he rushes. “Blow the door off its hinges.” Passion and desperation reeks from his lips and he presses his head against our entwined hands, breathing heavily onto my skin with pleading eyes. “Try it.”

Not knowing how I hadn’t thought of this before, I unclasp our hands and signal Marco to move away from me. Despite the quizzical looks from the guards loitering about the place, he scrambles to a safe distance away from me and I stand up, taking in the air and relaxing my shoulders.

The usual motions that have become engrained into my skull then take place. I hold my arms out in front of me with tensed fingers and sculpt the familiar ball shape with my hands. I close my eyes and feel the energy pumping through me faster. It’s only heightened further by the knowledge that Marco’s watching my every move, filled with hope and anticipation. I can feel my skin getting warmer and when I hope my light’s ready, I open my eyes.

But there’s nothing there.

“What?” I murmur. “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”

My breath catches in my throat as panic begins to rise and tension cripples my muscles.

Marco’s brows knit together and he comes towards me with thin lips and full eyes. “What’s wrong?”

As if his words simply pass over me like a breath of air, I stay quiet and furiously clamp my hands together in the same ball shape over and over again with gritted teeth. Each attempt creates nothing but aches and stab wounds in my body as I fail to create light from my palms.

Nothing shines from my skin as all my energy pours out of me through my heaving breaths of terror and shock and denial fills my head. No matter how many times my hands clasp into the same shape, no light pours through the cracks in my fingers and only air fills the space that my skin creates. I start clasping them together so hard that my skin becomes red and raw and tears threaten the corners of my eyes.

Denial is soon replaced with realisation as Marco’s words of concern pierce through my barrier of ignorance and my arms fall to my side in defeat. I give up.

“They’re gone,” I exhale.

“What are?”

Marco’s pressed up against my cell looking as if the life has been drained out of him in a matter of seconds. His glow’s almost gone and my gut wrenches at the thought of destroying all the hope he has left in him. Stohess seems further away than ever and all I see is the image of us by the lake withering away like the leaves in autumn.

I look up at him with as much sincerity as I can muster and search through my entire body for a reason not to tell him the truth and ruin everything. Clawing through every cell of my existence, I search for a single ray of energy that I could use to get myself out of here and make things all alright.

But I don’t find it. Somehow, I’ve become a useless, powerless shell that’s about to destroy my love’s last speck of hope and I almost can’t stand myself for it.  
I take a deep breath, a final search for something within me.

Nothing… Nothing at all.

“Marco, my powers are gone.”

It’s as if my breath leaves me entirely after I tell him that, as if all the life has been drained out of me. My heart pounds in my chest and screams in my ears like it’s trying to find my power source again and finding nothing but black, empty nothingness.

I’m empty.

I’m nothing without my powers.

“They’re gone,” I whimper, choking on my own words, praying that they’re not real. “Marco, they’re gone.”

Denial is the first thing that he begins to preach. Silently praying to himself, he asks me to try and create my light again just to make sure. Shaking, I perform my routine of shaping my hands like I usually do, despite the chip in my heart and overwhelming disenchantment, just as he asks.

When that fails, he asks me again. And again. And again. All until he’s given up entirely like I have and falls to the floor with limp limbs and a heavy chest.

Crouching to reach him, I see his eyes become red and enflamed from the presence of tears and he wipes them away as if nothing’s wrong with the sleeve of his crisp, white undershirt. “What are we going to do, Jean?” he asks, his voice cracking at the edge of each word. “You can’t stay in there.”

I simply nod, too tired to speak.

“If you stay in there you’ll _die_ ,” he sobs as tears run down his freckled cheeks.

Feeling my own face begin to redden, I press my body against the bars to get closer to him. No matter how difficult this gets, I have to be Marco’s brick wall. I can’t come crashing down when there’s an enemy to fight and a lover I must protect.

Either way, he is all I have.

“I’ll find them again,” I tell him, although I’m not convinced. “I’ll find them and I will take you to Stohess. Even if it’s the last thing I do, we will stand by that lake together.”

A soft touch presses against my lips. I see Marco so close to me once again and I fall into him once more, revelling in the feel of his skin against mine and the kiss that makes reality seem like a lifetime away. I take his touch as my promise – a promise that one day, we’ll make it.

Shouts and cries erupt from above us and we jump apart at the sudden scare. Clanking metal and chanting guards charge down the stone steps towards us and Marco scrambles to the other side of the hall so he isn’t trampled on by the armoured giants. They crowd around my cell, obscuring Marco from sight and they squint down at me as if I were an insect. I’ve never seen any of their faces before, but then they part like waves to let three others through to the front.

The king and Levi have returned, joined by a thin, pallid Duke Erwin, who looks as if he may throw up at any moment. He doesn’t look at me once, but something tells me it’s not out of disgust. He almost looks guilty for whatever’s about to happen.

“Bring my son here,” the king demands, and two guards disappear behind the metal sheath of unrecognisable faces in complete synchronisation. Marco’s cries for help come only moments later and Erwin winces at the sound.

Teeth gritted, I charge at the door of my cell and slam against the bars. “Don’t touch him,” I hiss. But it’s already too late. The guards return, gripping Marco firmly by his arms like a convict and hold him in place in front of my cell.

He looks to me with swelling, petrified eyes and shaking limbs as the space between us starts to feel like we’re miles apart. No matter how far I can reach my arm through the gaps to reach him, he’s still too far for me to touch and an obstacle is soon slammed between the two of us.

The king steps forwards and produces a steel-tipped whip with pointed ends and a firm leather handle. With the device in hand, the king smiles as if he were the devil himself and I can feel the power he must be experiencing radiating off of his body like a foul stench. Just from that I can tell that the piercing metal tips are going to be ripping my skin to shreds in a matter of moments and the king will enjoy every second of it.

Once giving me his usual disgusted glare, he turns his back on me to give Marco a similar treatment. Except it won’t be Marco’s skin that’ll be scarred, just his mind.

So this torture isn’t just for me. It’s for both of us.

Erwin looks away as the king stares down at the boy he called his son for so long and holds the whip up above Marco’s head so the steel tips are dangling just in front of his eyes. They swing menacingly from side to side and Marco’s eyes follow them, shaking in horror at the weapon in front of him.

Whilst the king mentally prepares Marco for what’s coming, a guard opens my cell with a set of spare keys and the others all instantly stand to full attention in case I make a break for it. Knowing my place, I stay where I am and wait, cowering away from the pack of eyes watching my every move.

Satisfied that he’s mentally scarred Marco, the king lowers the whip and holds it out to one side. “Do it,” he demands. “And make it hurt.”

To Marco’s dismay, Levi steps forward and takes the whip.

His eyes say nothing but regret and apologies as he looks at me with the whip in hand. Unlike the king, when he holds the whip, he feels no power – only reluctance. And I forgive him. He hasn’t even started yet but I forgive him for it already. I can tell just from the way he looks from me to Marco that he doesn’t want to do this.

Despite Marco’s cries and sobbing pleads, Levi stands between us with his back to everyone else and nods at me. “I’m sorry,” he mouths. At least if he’s doing it, then this may not hurt as much as it would if the king was doing it.

“Get on with it,” the king snaps. “Or are you _really_ helping them?”

So that’s what this is about – a test of Levi’s loyalty.

_I forgive you_.

Hesitancy lurking in his presence, Levi grips the handle of the whip and takes his stance. “Turn around.”

“Levi, _please_!” Marco shrieks. “Don’t do this!”

Visibly flinching at Marco’s pleas, Levi turns to him briefly with a glance filled with hatred for himself and what he’s about to do, like saying “there’s nothing I can do”, without saying it. Although Levi has only ever been sincere with Marco and nothing less, Marco doesn’t see it and continues to cry out both mine and Levi’s name as he turns back to me and repeats his previous order.

I do as he says. My shoulders tense as I crouch on the floor with my head pressed against the ground and my bare back clear like a blank canvas, gleaming out towards the crowd. Chills ripple through my body as the silence takes over and I try to blank out Marco’s cries so this doesn’t get any worse. I screw my eyes shut and wait for the pain to begin.

Levi grunts as he swings the whip and it cracks the air as it comes crashing down. Pain spikes through my core and I scream as the metal tips trash against my skin. Blood drips down my back from the first hit and it feels like an eternity before the second one comes. It’s no better than the first and I ball my fists in place of screaming out and making the ordeal worse for Marco. The third lash comes and I bite down on my lips, refusing any noise to escape from them. Blood clots begin to form on my bare skin and I can feel my body getting colder as my gashes absorb the cool air and breathe it into my veins.

“Do it harder,” the king demands. “I want him screaming.”

And that’s exactly what Levi does.

By the ninth lash, the pain’s unbearable and all my body will allow me to do is scream along with Marco, who watches the whole torment in agony. I can hear it in the way he cries my name.

* * *

  
Two days away from my trial and I’m panicking. Everyone is. The whole city’s in chaos now that news of my arrest has been made public and guards have been placed around the border of the castle just to keep the public out. They all want a good look at me before my trial where they’ll mock and scrutinise me as my “crimes” are read out for all to hear. I can hear their shouts of death from my cell every morning and the hatred in some of their voices makes me shiver.

I never knew I was so hated.

It’s chaos inside the castle too. Marco’s been confined to his bedroom since he threw a plate at the king last night after he’d been made to watch Levi give me a grand total of fifty lashings that still haven’t scabbed over yet. I’m told that he won’t be allowed out until my trial and he’s been forbidden from seeing me afterwards.

Once seeing the other side of Marco, some of the guards have begun to question the king’s parenting tactics and scares of rebellion are spreading through the stone halls of this place. Levi says he’s behind none of it, but the glint in his eyes tells me that he’s planning something much bigger once getting Marco and me out of Trost.

However, that’s the thing that seems to be proving difficult.

“Jean, the king doesn’t trust me anymore,” Levi sighs. “He’s demoted me.”

I stare back at him blankly. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning that I’m no longer a lance corporal.” He stands, coming closer to me until we’re standing face-to face so the guard patrolling the corridor doesn’t hear us. “Therefore, I no longer have the authority to try and persuade the king to spare you the death penalty.”

Desperate, I reach through the bars of my cell and grab Levi’s tunic. “But you can still _try_ , right?”

He says nothing, breaking eye contact with me and glancing aimlessly around the space, guilt surfacing through his body language.

“Levi, there must be _something_ you can do,” I beg. “Can’t you talk to Erwin?”

His shoulders tense as I speak the Duke’s name. “I’m in a difficult situation, Jean,” he murmurs as footsteps become louder. Shoving my hands away from him, he grits his teeth and sucks the air around him into his dead lungs. “I’m really trying absolutely _everything_ I can to get you out of this but it’s harder than I thought. The king has suspicions about me working with you and he won’t listen to what I have to—“

“But what about _Erwin_?” I stress, pacing about the tiny square that makes up my cage.

Quiet fills the space between us and Levi seems to space out for a moment. Vulnerability shows on his face and his stern expression fades into nothing, like it’s been washed away by the memories he’s reliving. “It’s no use, Jean. He’s the king’s brother and Marco’s uncle. They share the same morals. He’s the one that summoned the king in the first place.”

“But Marco always said that he—“

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he snaps. “Just let me think of another way that won’t get us both killed.”

And that’s when the reality of my position hits me.

With no powers to break my way out, no way of persuading the king and hardly anyone to trust, I’m going to be here for a while. I can’t get out. They’ve even found the hole in the wall.

There’s no time for me to escape before my trial and the security in the castle is on high alert. The guard keeping an eye on me may be an idiot, but he can somehow force his eyes open all through the night just so he can watch my every move. I’ve got eyes on me everywhere and I can’t bring Levi even deeper into this mess.

He’s right. If he helps me it’ll get us both killed. And I don’t want to think of what that would do to Marco.

* * *

  
On the morning of my trial, I’m awoken in my cell by rattling metal and two unknown guards grabbing me by the arms. Their metal fingertips dig into my bare arms and I’m dragged out of my cell with my feet scraping across the floor. They’re red and swollen by the time we reach the bottom of the stairs and that’s where my hands are pulled and chained behind my flayed back.

Cursing and kicking as I’m pulled upwards towards the light of day, I spit at the guards and try to ignore the fear burning in my gut. I cover my panic with insolence and use violence to hide my shaking limbs but it only grows as I’m brought out of the dungeons and taken towards the courtyard outside.

Sunlight blares into my eyes when I’m brought into the open like an animal and yelling rings in my ears. I yell back, shouting profanities out of sheer terror and my feet begin to weld themselves to the floor as the gaggle of nobles, shaded by a make-shift tent, comes into view. So do the people. So many people. They’ve all been allowed into the courtyard to watch my trial, each one curious and sneering at me. They’ve been fenced away from the gentry to form a vast space in the middle of the two crowds, presumably for me. The size of it makes me feel sick and I start to feel eyes becoming glued to me as I approach.

The short, seedy man from before stands proudly in the centre of the space in glorious robes that swamp his tiny form and he grins wickedly at me as I’m hauled into the space. A firm push slams across my back and I fall forwards, landing face-first into the dirt to only be comforted by laughter from the leering crowds.  
The cruel winter sun beats down on my healing back and digs its cold claws into my wounds, reopening them and exposing my blood to the stabbing air around me. I stay huddled on the ground from the cold and only move to look at the nobles and glare at them.

My chest feels as if it’s being ripped apart as I see Marco looking on at the scene, his face blank and emotionless and his eyes dead. He looks to me with a glassy, empty expression and hollow, pale cheeks. In a matter of days he’s been reduced to almost nothing but skin, bone and bitterness towards the abomination of a king next to him. He mouths the words “I love you” to me when no one’s looking and for the first time since I woke up from the afterlife, I feel a little easier.

“I love you too.”

With Marco’s dejected, yet calming eyes not leaving mine, the other sneers and jeers no longer pierce me like they’re intended to. Even the king’s usual disgusted glare does nothing to make me uneasy.

There may only be fear coursing through my body in this moment, but at least I’m not alone.

“Jean Kirschtein,” the seedy man calls out when the commotion begins to die down, “you are hereby charged with the following crimes: …” Silence falls over the courtyard as he inhales a deep breath and takes out a scroll from within his robes. I take in a breath too, breathing dirt into my lungs and Marco’s terrified, blown out eyes. “Sodomy…” Marco cringes as the king glares at him “…indecency…” I lift my head to look at him fully, hoping he catches my eye so we can hold each other through this “…corruption of a member of the royal family…” he sees me and leans forwards, almost as if he’s about to run to my side, but Levi’s firm hand on his shoulder keeps him in place and he continues to gaze at me with tears running down his cheeks “… and _witchcraft_.”

The silence blinds me.

“No!” a voice from the crowd shrieks.

Heads all turn one-by-one and people begin to gasp and jolt out of the way as someone coming to my aid sprints through the clattered crowd, pushing everyone else aside. When he reaches the front, he collides with the barricade, almost toppling over it, sending his mop of golden hair swirling in the wind.

Armin stares out into the space before him and grips the barricade with clenched claws and piercing blue eyes that are filled with nothing but hatred – an emotion I have never seen him express before. He hunches his shoulders, glaring out at those that surround Marco and breathes in the recklessness he desires. “Witchcraft is not a crime!” he bellows. “Jean has never hurt anyone with his magic!”

“Please don’t do this,” I mutter under my breath, my voice too weak to be carried to him. When the same two guards who brought me to this place begin to move towards Armin, my entire body freezes and my eyes grow wide in panic, begging him to leave before he’s arrested… but he doesn’t.

The king raises his hand in amusement and the guards stop. With a sly smile, he looks to my friend and swirls his finger in the air. “Continue, my boy,” he calls. “I’m interested.”

Shocked by the direct address from the king, Armin halts for a moment, looking to me for the first time in hopes of support. I only shake my head in reply, hoping he’ll get as far away from here as he can before he gets a price put on his head. But something within him changes. He’s been watching Marco and me from the background this whole time. He’s watched us grow together and change, yet has never spoken a word. Somewhere within him, he knows just how important staying alive is and the determination in his eyes tells me he’s not going to back down.

And so he rebels.

“Do none of you remember when vampires came to the city?” he calls out, looking into the crowd. Whispered gasps and murmurs begin to flow through the mouths of the public immediately, each one recalling the pallid skin of the creatures and their jagged jaws. “Jean was the one who defeated them with his magic! Prince Marco would be dead if it wasn’t for him!”

The nobility laughs as if they’ve forgotten all about it and Marco sinks into his chair at the mention of his name. Snorting so hard I start to hope his eyeballs will fall out, the king waves a hand in front of his face, signalling Armin to stop. My friend simply stares back like a deer in the headlights, clueless as to what he’s got himself in to and starts to shake.

The laughter abruptly stops and silence pollutes the air.

All eyes fall onto Armin and the king’s face becomes grave as if he were at a funeral. He stands, taking a single step forwards, and points to Armin. “Take him away from here,” he demands. “I don’t want him disrupting the trial any further.”

Horror erupts over Armin’s face and my heart leaps out of my chest. Mirroring his fearing expression, I shout. “Run, Armin!”

Limbs reacting without thinking, Armin starts sprinting as three guards begin to march towards him, growling like mad dogs and bearing their teeth. Upon seeing the wicked glint in their eyes, Armin disappears into the sea of bodies gasping for breath. The moment the guards go in after him, I hold my breath.

But I’m cut off by roaring laughter. “I think I’ve made my decision,” the king announces.

Marco’s face turns pale and his eyes black as obsidians as he turns towards his king with trembling limbs and little hope in his heart. My chest aches when I look at him. There’s no light left in him. We’re both broken and weary and we’ve been through too much to let this happen.

I can’t let this happen.

Knowing that what I’m about to do could end this all, it’s my last hope. So I rise from the dust, the grains sticking to my skin as I stand and take in the gasps from the empty faces around me. I stare the king down with my last hope burning inside me like a wildfire and shake from the cold wrapping itself around my bare skin.

Marco’s eyes widen and I see colour return to his cheeks for barely a moment as he rises out of his seat a little. I see his father snap at him but I don’t care to listen. My heart’s beating so fast I can barely contain it. He leaves his seat entirely, running towards me in a final attempt to show just how hopeless we are and crashes into me. Arms close around my waist and warmth returns to my frozen corpse as he buries his head into the crook of my neck, crying, knowing what will come.

Neither of us listen to the shouts that follow us. Neither of us listen to my guilty verdict and the charges put towards those that have helped us. Neither of us listen when I’m sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead.

We promise each other then, in the agonising silence of our ending, that we’ll cling on to whatever hope we have left… no matter what we must do to preserve it.

* * *

  
"I hereby sentence Jean Kirschtein to death. He will be hung by the neck until dead, as will all others who have aided him in performing these heinous crimes upon the royal family. And from this day forward, the practice of witchcraft will be seen as an act of treason and will be punishable by death. All those found practising the craft will meet the same fate as the convicted."

* * *

  
Running. They're all running -- everyone that ever knew about Marco and me. Trost is no longer safe for the ones I love and it's my doing. I can hear their rushed footsteps and screams as unknown figures chase after them in the shadows, craving bloodshed.

Only Hanji's stayed behind. She's the one who has stayed whilst others have fled and is watching over me as if I'm not a disappointment, but a defect -- something to be improved.

Haggard, tired eyes stare back at me through the steel bars and she shivers each time a guard so much as breathes. To avoid recognition, she's smeared her face with dirt and has removed her spectacles, making her eyes squinted and confused, as if she's just heard a joke and is trying to make sense of it. But sadness is there too. She's on her own down here to keep me company in what could be my final hours if we don't find a way out of this. 

Her hollow cheeks tell me that she's brought bad news with her like stones weighing down on her back and she crouches towards me, her smudged face coming into the light to expose the clear, straight lines where raw tears have washed away the dirt. "What do we do?" she asks me in a staggered whisper. "Jean, you're all I have left; I won't let you die." 

Remnants of her tears stain her words like ink and all I can do is shake my head in return. "What _can_ we do?" I reach my hands through the metal and hold hers like she used to when I was a child. "Unless Levi can find a route out of here--"

Hanji cuts me off by a stifled cry and she cups her hand over her mouth to stop the noise. Her joyless eyes glass over and break as she shakes her head, squeezing my hands tightly. "Jean..."

"H-Hanji, what's wrong?"

"Levi's been found out," she sobs.

My face falls. "What do you mean?"

She takes in a shivering breath, letting her hand fall from her face to push away a strand of hair dangling in front of her. "The King found out that Levi has been helping you and Marco." Breath catches in her throat and I realise what's coming. "They're going to execute him the day after you. They're just keeping him in another part of the castle that he won't be able to break out of."

"Th-then how am I..." I look to Hanji with fear singeing my tongue and she shakes her head as she begins to cry, knowing the realisation we've both come to. "There isn't a way, is there?"

She looks away from me holding her fingers under her eyes to catch her cries but she shakes too much that they cascade down her cheeks anyway, taking her disguise with them. "Jean, what can I do?" she weeps. "You're my _family_. I can't let this happen."

Clinging to her wrists, I weep with her, praying that by some miracle I get out of this because _I don't want to die_. I want to _live_. I want to start my new life with Marco in Stohess where we'll finally be happy and free from this mess. I'll take Hanji with me. I'll take the entire fucking city with me if I have to. But I can't die.

"I don't want to die," I shake, no longer knowing who I'm talking to. "I don't want to die!"

Hanji throws her arms around me as best she can so I can scream the same words over and over into her shoulder as she cries, comforting me like she used to, stroking the shorter, darker hairs at the back of my head as if I were made of glass.

Choking, she holds my cheeks delicately in her hands as she admires my reddened, tear-stained face and places a kiss on my forehead. "I remember the day you first got your powers," she smiles, wiping away any evidence of my fear. "You were so scared, Jeanbo. But I knew you could handle it. And so did your mother." I can't help but smile when she says that. "No matter how many times we both told you that you'd be alright, you wouldn't listen to us. You refused to use them for such a long time... But now look at you." She runs her thumb over my knuckles, grinning at her memories dancing around her head. "Even now you don't know what you're capable of," she sighs. "You can do so many things with your powers and you don't even know how to yet."

"I guess I'll _never_ know," I lament. "They're gone."

Hanji's smile vanishes and she looks to me like prey about to be mauled by a predator. "What?"

Disappointment in myself takes over my capability to speak and I lose myself in pity. "I said they're _gone_... My powers are gone."

Startled, she retreats her hold and holds her hands to her lips in a prayer. Her empty eyes swell and she shakes her head violently, chanting denial into the stone as she looks to me for hope. When she receives no reply, Hanji becomes limp, her bottom lip quivering as she grasps the metal bars once more and pulls herself closer to me. "Jean, what happened in that forest?" she says, emphasising every syllable that leaves her.

And so I tell her every detail. From the moment Marco and I stepped foot into that place to the bright light that appeared in front of me as I died and then to when I woke up in the stone confinements of the palace, I tell Hanji everything I can remember. Once I'm done recalling my tale of confusion, she sits there in awe and terror.

"And this light that you saw when you died," she breathes, "where did it come from?"

I rack my brain for the memory, yet I can't seem to picture it. All I remember is it appearing in front of me as I held Marco's body in my arms and I was weak, exhausted, practically dead already. And it was just _there_ , like a beam of hope, only to cast me into the afterlife.

"It just appeared," I tell her. "I was crying and screaming and I was just _so_ tired that I don't even know if I was seeing things."

All goes quiet for a moment as Hanji gathers her thoughts, tapping her ring finger on the metal and making the sound echo throughout the dungeons. Then she looks to me with something in her eye that I can't decipher. "Did you ever read that book I gave you?" she asks. "The one that all the powerful witches before you wrote in?"

Wondering why she's bringing this up all of a sudden, my brows furrow and I elaborate the truth a little in fear of being scolded. "Yes, why?"

Hanji raises a single eyebrow at me. "Jean I need the truth from you. This could be a way to get your powers back."

My mind wanders back to the night that I found out who Marco really was. I remember that I'd been reading a passage from the book until Gumbie disturbed me... and then I never picked it back up again. But this one section that I read intrigued me. I never got to finish it but I remember what was written: _There was blood, tears and screaming and I couldn’t stop. I held him as close to my chest as I could so our hearts were in line and even though my throat was in agony, I kept screaming. All I could see was black, but the tighter I held him, the lighter things became. I was sure that I was dying, then I saw the light and it was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. It kept growing and when I opened my eyes everything around me was glowing in a luminous white light, more radiant than I had ever seen before_.

"The light," I whisper, "w-was that--"

"Jean, I think I know where your powers are."

Catching my breath, still unsure of everything, I grasp at her hands in a panic. "Hanji, what do you mean? Where are my powers? What was that light? What has this got to do with that book?"

She shakes her head. "Jean there aren't many people in this world that are capable of what you are. But there are some..." her voice fades as she chooses her words. "It's possible to remove your powers from your body when you are experiencing extreme emotions."

"Like grief?"

Sadly, she nods.

"Then how can I get them back?" I rush, holding her hands harder as a beam of hope burrows into me.

"Jean," she sighs with a heavy heart as she lets go of me, "I don't think you'll want them back."

And so she tells me everything she knows. 

Once she's done, I'm screaming, grappling at the bars utterly helpless and empty.

She was right; I don't want them back.

* * *

  
Night comes like a terror with its claws scraping down the metal surrounding me as I shiver in the cackling wind. Frost clings to my lungs like a parasite and I grow colder with each intake of breath. Only Hanji's words force my eyes open and refuse to let me sleep and they form tears at the corners of my eyes that won't fall.

Everything hurts. My back, still flayed, stings each time my shoulders rise with each breath I take and my bones ache from constantly pacing around my cell as I tried to think of what to do. When I couldn't, I gave up and slumped to the floor and told Hanji to forget about getting me out of here -- just Marco.  
I haven't accepted my death yet, but I know it's coming. By this time tomorrow I'll be gone and it won't be me saving Marco.

"You knew this would happen," an eerie voice booms from the black. "Deep down, you knew."

"I didn't expect it to be this way."

Ymir peers out of the darkness and watches me closely, expecting me to at least sit up in her presence, but I don't. Even when she unfurls her great, iridescent wings, I lay still, counting the feathers that fall from her bones as they blow a gust of air towards me and spread dust over my smudged skin. Her proud, poignant features look down on me and she shows me no emotion, knowing what's to come. "You did as I asked," she says. "You did what was right."

"How is dying doing what's right?" I ask bitterly, avoiding her piercing eyes.

"You're giving up your life for the one you love." As if she were made of air she walks right through the bars of my cell like they're made of water and I sit up instantly, feeling the heat of her power radiate off her skin as she gets closer. "I thought you said you would die for Marco?"

I scramble as far away as I can, knocking my head on the wall behind me when I misjudge the distance and I press my scarred back against the cool stone. "I'm scared, Ymir," I breathe, no longer caring about dignity. "I want there to be a way where Marco's saved and I live too."

A glint of pity shines in her eyes and she sits with me, gradually becoming warmer in every sense of the word in the silence. "There can only be one," she murmurs. "I told you that you weren't meant to die, didn't I?"

I nod, dreading the rest of her speech.

Ymir leans back against the wall and sighs, making her wings ruffle as if her breath were stronger than waves of the sea, and then folds them around her shoulders like a shroud to shield her from the deathly breeze. "Your powers are meant to be here, Jean. Someone has to stay and keep the Darkness at bay. And that can't happen if you're dead."

"But I no longer have my..."

The look she gives me says it all. Someone has to take Marco's place in the afterlife to restore the balance. That's why Marco couldn't move on.

"Do you now forgive me for what I have done, Jean?" Ymir asks, wrapping a single wing around me in a final act of kindness.

"Isn't there any way..."

"I can't change fate, Jean. That's not my job."

"Does Marco know?"

"No," she sighs. "He knows nothing."

After all this time, of years fighting the monsters that live in the forest that's my back garden, I have never once feared the thought of dying. But it's only now that I see the truth. I was reckless then. I felt as if I had nothing to live for. And yet, when I found Marco, everything had a meaning once more. It's only now that I look upon the life that I've lived and see that after all this time I've always had something to live for. And it's because of this that even though my end is so close that I can taste it, I still don't fear death itself. I only fear the thought of what I'm leaving behind.

"You will meet him in another life," Ymir exhales, "and he'll be even more auroral than he was in this one."

* * *

  
By the time Ymir leaves I may still be left with the dread of losing what I have, but my head's swirling with foretellings of the future. And everything I see is bright, opalescent and beautiful, gleaming within the deep abyss of Marco's shining eyes.

* * *

  
Obnoxious laughter aimed to rudely awaken me booms down the stone stairs as morning comes. The sun, showing its face only to say it's farewells, glares on my pale skin and gives it a ghostly, pallid sheen that almost prepares me for how this is all going to end.

Today is the day that I, Jean Kirschtein, will die. And it's the right and only thing to do.

Most of me hopes that Marco won't be there; I don't want this to be the final memory he has of my existence. Although, if he isn't, then I never would have gotten the chance to say goodbye to him.

"Wakey, wakey, witch!" they call.

Little do they know, I've been awake all night. I haven't slept since Ymir left and I'm too weak to even look as they unlock my cell.

The door creaks open and clangs when it collides with the bars and hands grip me by the shoulders as I'm hoisted off the floor. My legs give out on me in fear and I fall forwards, the guards' grip slipping from me as I crash to the ground. Bone collides with stone and my lungs choke for air as my breath is pushed out of me. Quivering fingers grasp at the stone on the ground when hands grab my ankles and I'm dragged out of my cell, breathless, unable to scream and begging to be put back in there for just a little longer. I grapple at the floor as it travels beneath me, taking my skin with it as I'm scraped carelessly across it. "Please!" I gasp. "I don't want to fucking die!"

No one listens. They dig their fingers into my shoulders and pull me upright when we reach the stairs and my hands are bound in front of me with rope so tight I can feel it chafing my skin.

The walk up the stairs seems endless. Each one feels harder to climb than the last and I keep my head down throughout the ascent, my breath coming out in erratic shivers and panicked intakes as the sun gets closer. When I reach it, I stop, staring out directly at it.

For a moment, I lose myself. The blinding light enchants me and I reach out my hands towards its immense glow. Rays dance between my fingers like the girls in Maria's and the memory of the fire I shared that night with the one I love warms my core. I smile, dreaming of memories that we'll make one day in another life and lower my hands again.

"Kiss the sun goodbye, witch. This is the last time you'll be seeing it."

If only they could have seen the things Ymir showed me last night, then they'd choose their words more carefully.

The crowd approaches, and so does the platform where I'll soon meet my demise. It's been placed right in the centre of the mob, crooked and half-assed as if it had only just been built the night before. In reality, it's been there for years, constantly casting it's ominous shadow over the courtyard, keeping alive the memory of death.

"Make way for the witch!"

The crowd parts in waves with its faces staring back at me solemnly as I pass through. Each human I look to has nothing to say. They're no longer the screaming, boorish mass I met at my trial, but those who almost seem regretful. Each one gazes at me with sorrowful eyes and fall silent as I'm ushered past them, flinching away from me in fear of my hatred. Yet I do nothing. I continue to walk with my head held low until I hear my name.

"Jean?" It's barely over a whisper, but I hear him. My head rises instantly to look upon Eren's weight being supported on Armin's shoulder. Connie and Sasha look on in the background, clinging on to one another in their rare speechlessness and Sasha's eyes begin to fill. Eren's lip quivers and he reaches out his hand to me, his fingers trembling as they touch my cold cheek. "You promised."

"You know I don't want to."

Armin takes in a shuddering breath as he hoists our friend up a little more, trying to keep his tears at bay around my loved ones. Eren nods, stroking his thumb over my skin as he allows me to look into his eyes once more. "You're my best friend," he shakes.

Choking back my own tears as they scratch at my throat, I nod, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "And you're mine."

Armin gives me a final, reassuring nod, determination gleaming in his eyes and I see what he knows. I nod back, silently thanking him for everything he's done and smile one more time at Connie and Sasha before I'm pressed onwards.

More stairs. Wooden ones. And this time where I reach the top, instead of seeing the sun, I see faces, all empty and spaced out. They all give me glazed, hollow stares that swallow me whole and I glance at each and every one of them, figuring out their stories.

Their faces tell me nothing. I hardly recognise any of them, but they all seem to know me. They almost turn away as I make contact with each one as if they're ashamed to be here. I would be too if I came to watch a stranger die. 

"The criminal in front of you stands accused of sodomy, indecency, corruption of a member of the royal family and witchcraft." 

It all starts to become real. A sickening pain swells in my chest and my throat begins to turn dry as I swallow my final breaths and search frantically through the crowd for Marco.

"The King would like to remind the citizens of Trost that others who have aided the accused in these crimes upon the royal family will be executed. And from this day forward, the practice of witchcraft will be seen as an act of treason and will be punishable by death. All those found practising the craft will meet the same fate as the accused."

I lose my breath completely. Eren, Armin, Hanji, Levi... They'll all...

"Jean!"

Tears rip their way through the wall I've put up when I see him. "Marco!" I scream, pulling out of the grip on me and running towards the edge of the platform to meet him. I fall to my knees as he comes closer, my chest _aching_ at the glance of his perfect sight once more.

Eyes frantic and raw, Marco runs towards me screaming my name, shoving past anyone who gets in his way and crashes into the platform, raising his hands to me to hold my own. With the rope cutting into my skin, I cup his glistening cheeks in the palms of my hands and kiss him one last time, letting droplets fall onto his skin in the moment, crying into him, whispering everything I could never say before all at once. "I love you," I weep. "I'm never going to leave you."

Ignoring the shouts of our peers, Marco pulls me into the crook of his neck and strokes the shorter hairs at the base of my head, his chest heaving from his cries. "I will make it to Stohess," he trembles, "for you."

"I know you will." Losing myself in his warming eyes, I lean into him once more, reaching out to him just for _one_ last touch but we're both dragged away from one another. I cry out his name as he's pulled into the crowd, becoming lost from my sight but I can still hear his screams piercing through my chest over and over again. I start fighting against the pull on my shoulders, sobbing uncontrollably as I'm pulled backwards, my heels digging into the wood. I refuse to scream anything else other than his name in reply to my own and I kick at anyone who dares to come close to me. An almost animal force takes over my body and I become ferocious, terror, anger and agony all coming together to fuel my fight. My throat becomes raw from my shrieks and the weight of four, massive guards hold me in place.

I look out to the crowd, searching once more for Marco and I find him, kicking and screaming within the hold of an armoured man twice his size, tears streaming down his face as he calls my name and pleas to let me live.

The rough, scratching rope is lowered and put around my neck and I can feel death coming for me. It's cold, empty and cruel and it grins at my refusal to leave. I go limp when my life is tightened and my breath starts to leave my lungs and I go limp, keeping my eyes on Marco the whole time.

He stops screaming and all goes silent.

Oh, Marco. My dear, sweet Marco. You gave me a galaxy –

 

 

_\-- when I only needed a star._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be publishing the final two chapters together in hopes that after the next one you won't all completely hate me and stop reading. I understand that there are some people who have said that they'll stop reading if there's a sad ending, but I don't want to ruin anything so I guess you're just going to have to trust that you'll enjoy the ending of this fic.  
> As I'm posting the last two chapters at the same time it may take some time for another update but I promise it won't be as long as 5 months! I really appreciate all the support you've all given me whilst writing this and I really do hope it continues because it's awesome.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm writing a second fic called 'Four the Living' that you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323189/chapters/7263275).
> 
> Next chapter: The Great Light; it's been here this whole time.
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws).
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	16. The Great Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So hello there, it's been 10 months. I don't have an excuse but I do profusely apologise for this /seriously/ delayed update.  
> This is the final update of this fic as two chapters have been uploaded. I do hope that you enjoy this ending but if you don't that's okay too just don't be mean about it. Thank you very much for all your support and kind words. If you liked this fic then please check out [my other one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323189/chapters/7263275) (yes that will be updated too).  
> Warnings: None! Just sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco's POV

Grief can't explain the weight upon me. Nothing can. Even the mere action of staring into the face of the cold moon takes its toll on me. Its light no longer fills me with the wonder it used to or the dread of nightmares. It’s unstained gleam that once filled us with so much hope now shines coldly on only one body instead of two. Its icy glare mocks me for being so weak. 

I should have stopped them from taking him.

I watched him die and there was nothing I could do. By some miracle I hoped that he'd come back - we've died before - but he's still not in my arms where he should be and I'm not in Stohess like I promised.

Trost looks barren and dead from my window. The once lively streets are deserted and the silence makes everything harder to take in. No one wanted him to die. They all realise now how they took him and his gifts for granted - how he gave himself wholly to everyone he met even if his presence was met with disgust. Only now they realised how he saved them.

My legs become weak from standing for so long, begging the moonlight for my love to come back, but it stays silent and continues to shine on as a painful reminder that my light is dead.

"Come back," I plea, collapsing onto the floor as my legs give out on me. "Please come back." My hands grab the windowsill and I rest my head against the cold stone wall, my heart pumping tears out of me with each beat and my throat becoming dry. 

To think that only this morning his amber eyes were still full of life, only to be forced shut and his life taken from him so cruelly. I don't know if what I feel is hatred or misery or both.

My limbs shake as I pull myself upwards, too weak to function properly and my eyes become raw from tears. Bleary-eyed and empty, I retreat to my bed, place my pillow over my quivering lips and scream.

I'll never hear his voice again. I'll never see his contagious smile or his fiery eyes that come alive in the glare of the sun. I can never feel the touch of his calloused fingertips or his featherlight kisses that leave me breathless. I'll never hear him tell me he loves me again.

Knowing this, my screams come out in roaring anguish that leaves my lungs empty so all I have left are pathetic wisps of air that barely keep me awake. I clench the soft material of the pillow smothering me as I slow my shaking breath and pull back the darkness to face my prison cell.

"Jean," I whisper, "if you can hear me, wherever you are… I’m sorry."

A part of me hopes for a reply. When it doesn’t come, tears do instead and I curl up on my mattress, clinging to myself for comfort.

"I love you." And I imagine his smooth, soft voice telling me he loves me too. Like he always does.

My eyes become heavy with dejection and my aching body sinks into my bed, wrapping me in a cold blanket of temporary comfort. 

It'll only last until morning and then my long, torturing journey back to Jinae begins.

* * *

 

"Marco?… Marco, wake up.”

It’s still dark when I open my eyes as a string hand shakes me awake. My body instinctively sits up and I look around frantically. The moon continues to shine bleakly and I realise that everything that has happened is real. A step towards me makes my head turn and Erwin stands over my bed, gaunt and hollow with solemn eyes that are filled with guilt.

I scramble away from him, my chest filling with a burning sensation. "What do you want?" I hiss. 

My curt words cause Erwin to take a step away from me. He hangs his head low when he stops moving. "I'm sorry, Marco," he says, his pride long gone. The room stays silent aside from my rushed breath and I stare at him with the fire burning in my chest still raging. "I didn't realise this would happen."

If he hadn't summoned my father this would never have happened. "Get away from me," I say lowly, my voice beginning to shake. "If you've only come here to apologise then leave."

His face remains blank, even after my piercing words. He comes towards me, reaching out his hand to me as his eyes shine like glass in the moonlight. He won't cry. He never does. But I can see that he wants to. With a glance down to my bed, he silently asks to sit and I nod, shuffling slightly further away as the mattress sinks lower to the floor with his weight. 

"I thought what I was doing was right," he says, not looking at me. "I was trying so hard to gain my brother's approval of being your guardian that I didn't think about how my actions would affect you.”

His blindness sparks a twinge in my stomach that makes me feel sick. "You know him better than anyone."

“Your fath-“

"He is not my father," I snap, my voice scratching as my skin becomes heated. "He means nothing to me and I am not his son. You're his brother yet you were so blind that you… that you…" My words trail off to become muffles mixed with sobs and I cling to the sheet beneath me. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. "How could you not predict that he'd do this?" I choke, staring longingly at Erwin for an answer I may not receive.

He hangs his head low, eyes becoming glazed from the guilt that lays heavy on his heart. "Marco if I'd known-"

"Known what?"

He pauses, searching for the right words. I know what he means, I just want to hear him say it. "If I had known that you were in love with another man then yes I may have reconsidered summoning my brother." He looks to me again hoping for forgiveness, hoping that his excuse of not knowing will cleanse his guilt. "He was wrong to do this to you, Marco."

Shaking my head, I retreat to the window and lean against the cold stone archway surrounding it. "Saying what he did was wrong won't bring Jean back. It won't get him out of that shallow grave I know they've put him in." Tears creep up my throat and threaten to tear out my eyes. "He's dead, Erwin. The love of my life is dead."

Silence rips through the room and I can't even hear myself breathe anymore. My heart's crumbling in my chest as I take in my own words and the harsh reality of them.

_The love of my life is dead._

"Why am I even here?" I shake. "If I go back to Jinae they'll kill me. If I run they'll find me. They'll kill my friends and it will all be my fault."

A hand on my shoulder stops me from getting closer to the window, fear terrorising my mind and making it want things I never have before. Erwin turns me to face him and not the window and his eyes are grave and serious. "Don't talk like that," he says. "None of its true."

"Levi's going to be executed and the whole of Jinae wants me dead and you're telling me that everything is fine?” I spit.

Hands grip me harder. "You're not going back to Jinae.”

Time slows for a moment as Erwin’s words have a chance to sink in. Its as if my breath slows down to nothing in my disbelief. This can’t be possible. Unless the king has suddenly had a change of heart, I’m returning to Jinae and will accept my death as soon as someone successfully completes my assassination.

“That can’t be possible,” I exhale, moving away from Erwin’s grasp and shaking my head in dubiety. 

He comes after me, a desperate, forced smile across his face. “But it is, Marco.” He clings onto my arms again, refusing to let go this time. “It is; there’s a way out of all of this.”

Standing still, I shrug his grip off of me and stare him down with piercing eyes. “Even if I were to believe you, why would you help me?”

The forced smile falls and Erwin’s body goes limp. “Is that really how you perceive me, Marco?” he asks. “A liar? Someone who doesn’t want you to be happy?”

“If it’s my happiness you wish for, you shouldn't have summoned my father.” Swiftly, I move towards my door and reach for the handle to show him the way out before he makes this any harder. “Leave.”

“Marco, _please_ , I—“

“No!” I shout. “Leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage already.”

More defiant than before, Erwin’s pride returns to him for a moment and he stands taller than ever, glaring at me. “Marco if you don’t want to die in Jinae you will trust me and you will come with me. Levi’s by the gate—“

“Levi’s in the dungeons.”

Erwin shakes his head. “Levi is by the gate with a cart and will take you wherever you want to go.”

“But…” I trail off, trying to find the answers myself but end up stuttering incoherent noises and nonsense instead. “ _How_?”

Erwin’s lips curl upwards into a tight smile. “Because you don't deserve any of this and I want to make things right.”

“But if you’re found out—“

“Then I will accept the consequences when they come,” he smiles sadly. We both know what will happen, and a part of me wants to stay to keep him safe. But what he’s offering me - a chance to get away - is one I can’t refuse. “I don’t want to know where Levi will be taking you and if you do go, this will be the last time we see each other.”

The grave tone of his voice makes me realise just how serious he is. He’s planned all of this. If I go, by morning everyone will find me and an escaped prisoner gone and soon the finger will be pointed at Erwin. God knows what the king will do to him if he finds out. Torture, threats, execution - they’re all possibilities. That’s probably why Erwin doesn't want to know where I’m going so he never gives me up.

The sacrifice Erwin is making for me turns my stomach as I think back to how cruel I was to him only moments ago. He’s willing to face the possibility of dying for me and I called him a liar.

“Will you go, Marco?” he asks. “Will you get away from here and be safe?”

Within a heartbeat, I nod, rushing over to him and wrapping my arms around his body, not knowing his fate. I nuzzle my head into his chest like I used to when I was small and cling as if my life depended on it, not his. My face becomes hot as tears soak his tunic and I feel his strong arms wrap around me, his breath hitching. 

“Thank you, Uncle,” I weep, “for everything.”

He kisses my head and ruffles my hair when I pull away from him, laughing slightly. I see streams of tears running down his clear skin through his painful smile and I engrave that image into my mind: pride. Not of himself, but of me. He looks at me like a guardian should.

“Can’t you come with me?” I plea.

He shakes his head sadly. “People know who I am, Marco,” he says softly. “Wherever I go people will know who I am… but _you_ —“ he laughs “— no one will know who you are.”

I nod, knowing what has to be done and I embrace my uncle and my guardian one last time before he leaves me in silence.

* * *

 

With a small grey sack containing my prized possessions - my broken hag stone and a few bottles of oil that Jean left behind - I step out into the moonlit breeze, clutching my necklace. Just as Erwin had promised, a horse-drawn cart stands ready by the gates, ready to take me as far away as I want. A hooded figure sits at the front, holding the reigns and keeping the horses calmer than anyone possibly could. As I approach with a wide grin on my face, expecting to see Levi, the face that turns to me is much younger, smaller, and is framed by a cascading length of golden hair.

“Armin?” I gleam, scrambling towards him as he grins back at me, the warmth of his smile filling me with relief that he’s safe. “You got away.”

He nods. “Everyone did. Levi got us all safe.”

“Where are the others? Hanji? Eren? Levi? Gumbie?”

Armin hushes me as my volume increases and tells me to get into the back of the cart so we can get away quickly if it comes to it. “Hanji and Eren went ahead first. Guards have already started house-to-house searches for anyone that’s connected to you so Levi told them to get a head start and we’re meeting them on the outskirts of the centre. They have Gumbie.”

“And Levi?” I heave, wondering why he isn't here like Erwin said he would be.

Armin’s tone becomes more grave and his smile fades, looking back longingly towards the already open gate and our path to freedom. “He’s coming.”

And then I see him. Levi appears out of the shadows cast by the immense stone walls carrying a limp, dirtied bundle of cloth in his arms. He stares ahead at nothing with blank eyes and his dirt covered hands cling to the bundle. As he approaches the cart, I see pale skin peeking through the folds of the fabric and I just _know._

“Jean?” I tremble, shaking as I crawl over the wood and towards Levi. He stops and looks up at me, not saying a word but with guilt and sadness in his eyes. He raises the carefully wrapped shroud up to me and places him into my outstretched arms. I tremble as I touch him, his features I know so well covered by the cloth to spare me the heartache of seeing him lifeless.

Too weak to hold him, I place him carefully into my lap, too scared to unfold the covering over his face and watch as Levi wipes away where he believes a tear may have slipped, leaving behind a smear of mud on his skin. Looking to me with determination in his eyes, he joins Armin at the front of the cart and nods.

With a jolt, we begin to move.

“Lie down,” Levi orders. “If you’re seen by anyone this is all over.” He pulls the hood of his cape over his head to conceal his identity and doesn't look back as I obey him, lying Jean on his back cautiously as I then lie down next to him.

I watch as the archway that encases the entrance to my stone prison passes over me and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Just the rest of Trost to go,” I whisper, looking beside me in hopes to see Jean’s amber eyes smiling back. All I am greeted with this time is a blank sheet. I reach out and touch where I know his face is and feel his features through the material. My heart begs him to pull away the fabric himself, but no matter how long I wait, he doesn’t.

Once the first tear escapes, more come out in streams as I cry as silently as I can, whimpering as I stroke his cheek through the fabric as if I were touching precious glass. My finger catches on a fold of material and skin peeks through. I recoil my hand as my skin brushes against his once more, almost as if I wish not to disturb him, but my hand returns. My finger hooks the fabric and I prepare myself to see him once more.

“Don’t,” Levi’s voice says gently. “You’ll regret what you see.”

“I just want to see him one last time,” I beg.

I take his silence as permission and I slowly pull away the corner of cloth covering Jean’s face. I choke on my tears when I see his ghostly skin and closed eyes that have become deep set and dull. His lips are no longer plump and pink, but chapped and grey. I run my thumb over them and sob, holding my screams at the back of my throat where they become muted. Caressing his lifeless skin, I hold him to my chest and hold tight. I kiss his forehead and run my hands through his matted hair, refusing to look at the deep purple bruise I know is encircling his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” I weep. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

I hold him like that for the rest of journey, telling him that he’s my everything, hoping that somehow, somewhere, he can hear me.

 

* * *

 

The cart comes to a stop on the outskirts of the centre just like Armin had said. There’s no light here, only the deafening sound of the wind and the muffled sound of footsteps that travel around the side of the cart towards Jean and me. “We’re here,” Armin says softly.

I sit up and face into the never ending black around me. The moon’s disappeared behind a mask of black cloud that’s drained the evening of any light. I look around and make out the small silhouette of my friend who holds out his hand to me. I take it firmly and jump down from the cart.

The bitter wind freezes the remnants of the tears on my face and I shiver in the cold. “Hanji will have some blankets for you,” Armin says. “We still have a long way to go.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me and wrap my arms around myself to generate warmth.

In the distance, a single light begins to flicker. Voices accompany it, then faces as the light grows, revealing Levi and Hanji holding Eren up on his feet. Levi holds up the flame he’s created and then looks to me with a slight smile. “We thought Jean deserved a proper funeral.”

My chest feels heavy as I look upon the loved ones I have before me. Some are missing, but the ones that are here all look to me with both hope and sadness in their hearts. They're still adjusting too. Jean would be proud.

A familiar rumble around my ankles makes me smile and Gumbie nuzzles into me, begging for attention. I bend down to give him a long stroke all the way down his spine and he rolls his head in the palm of my hand.

“We’ve been here all day getting things ready,” Hanji says. At first I don’t know what she means, but Eren’s doleful smile leads me to believe that they’ve been preparing a funeral for Jean. Even the looks behind him and points into the shadows. A faint outline of the funeral pyre begins to come into focus.

Turning away from them, I approach the cart again and lean over the side. The faint light of Levi’s flame slightly illuminates the strong shadows on Jean’s face. I place my hand gently on his cheek and run my thumb over the skin, then slowly guide him into my arms and lift him out of the cart.

With Jean safely in my arms, eyes closed and heart beat silent, we all turn to the funeral pyre, Levi leading the way with his light. As we walk, everything is silent and all I look at is him, breathless and limp in my arms. His pallid skin becomes tan and rich in the light of the fire and for a moment he looks alive. But his eyes stay shut and his heart stays silent so I hold his hand as I walk him to his resting place.

The true size of the pyre doesn’t come into view until we almost walk into it. Stacks and stacks of wood that Hanji and Eren have scavenged have been moulded into a nest ready for Jean to lie down for the last time. Gumbie makes a shrill cry next to me and I crouch down so he can say goodbye to his master. His blue eyes light up when they see Jean’s face and Gumbie nuzzles his head into the crook of Jean’s neck and licks the clotted purple bruise. Silently, I make a promise to Gumbie that although I may never replace Jean, I’ll do the best I can to look after him.

I almost don’t want to put Jean down. I wish to carry him like this forever and wait for the day that he wakes up or find a spell that will bring him back. I can’t let him go.

The hand holding Jean’s clenches tighter and my shoulders become tense as I stare at the pyre before me. It’s all a bad dream. He can’t die just like that. We’ve experienced the miracle of resurrection before why can’t it happen again? Ymir told us to do the right thing and we have. We fixed anything that needed to be fixed. Ymir said _I_ was supposed to die, not Jean.

It should have been me.

“Marco?” Levi’s voice stops my thoughts from consuming me. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t do it.”

Silence. I keep looking away from them and at Jean and I freeze, holding him tighter than I ever have. It should have been me.

“What do you mean?” Levi asks calmly, cautiously coming towards me.

“It should have been me,” I tremble, facing them all. “I should have died not him.” My entire body starts to shake as I stare at my love’s body, thinking how our roles should be reversed and how he deserved to live so much more than I do.

“Marco—“

“It should have been me!” I scream, pulling Jean further into me and caressing the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. “Ymir told him that I should have died in the forest not both of us. She sent us back to fix everything but everything’s broken.”

This time, Hanji steps in, looping Eren’s arm around Armin so she can move freely. Her eyes are like glass as she reaches out to me, her hands shaking. Levi, seemingly clueless, steps back.

“He gave up his life for you, Marco,” Hanji says. “Ymir had to take one of you so Jean gave himself up. He did it to save you.”

I stare back at her blankly, still holding Jean close to my chest so he can hear my heart racing.

“This is what Jean wanted, Marco,” she pleads, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Let’s put him to rest so he can move on.” Still shaking, Hanji embraces Jean and me. She kisses my cheek as if I were her own family and strokes Jean’s hair as he lies in my hold. “Put him to rest so his soul can be free.”

My skin wet from my tears, I kiss Jean’s forehead one last time and place his body onto the pyre. He eases onto the wood with ease and he already seems at peace. I cover his bare skin with the cloth and I stare down at him as Levi brings me the flame. I hold the wood firmly in my hand, tears escaping my eyes as I hold the burning light to the pyre and let it fall amongst the wood. Slowly, the crafted nest that surrounds Jean becomes alight and I step back, admiring the growing flame.

Embers begin to float upwards into the black like golden dancers, which Hanji says are parts of Jean’s soul becoming one with the universe. They spiral into a tornado of gold as they're taken away from the body they came from and slowly fade into the black of night. Hanji holds my hand as we watch the fire that’s now engulfed the pyre, the burning orange reflecting in her eyes. Levi stands to the other side of me, silent with his head bowed. Eren and Armin sit on the floor in front of us, Eren crying tears of gold and resting his head on Armin’s comforting shoulder.

My eyes widen as a bright, glowing orb flitters out of the fire. Instead of being gold like the other embers, it’s clean, iridescent and white. My mouth falls as more follow it, dancing within the othersmoking remnants as they spiral downwards and towards us. They're blindingly beautiful compared to the others and Hanji gasps as she watches. Levi’s head rises to the light and his eyes widen, taking in the incredible sight. We become transfixed by the balls of light surrounding Jean, and Hanji reaches out as one travels too far from the rest of the crowd. It escapes her grasp as the orbs move in a strange form.

Hundreds of tiny glowing orbs hover in the space between us and the pyre, then all merge together, creating a blinding white light. As it envelops us, we raise our arms to shield our eyes and wait to be plunged back into the orange light of the fire. When the light fades, I lower my arm slowly and my breath rushes out of my lungs all at once as I gaze at the once empty space.

He stands there, gleaming like an angel, an ethereal glow surrounding him as he smiles at us. Draped in crisp, white robes, any sign of death has been wiped away. Even through the blinding white light around him, I can still see the bright amber of his bright eyes.

“Jean?” I exhale, watching his every move. He smiles at me, not saying a word. My body jolts in an attempt to run to him, but a firm hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Don’t,” Hanji says, shaking. “Don’t touch him.”

Jean nods, bowing his head to her, then walks towards Eren and Armin as if he were gliding on air. He crouches down to them and beams. My heart races as I watch to see if he’s breathing… but he doesn’t. Eren and Armin both sit there with their mouths wide open as they stare their dead friend in the face as if he’d come back for a second time. But I fear that this is only temporary: a last goodbye before he leaves us forever.

Gumbie leaps out of Eren’s lap and goes to nuzzle Jean but just as he reaches Jean’s skin, he moves away, returning to Eren’s lap and staring wide eyed at his master.

“You can’t touch those between this world and the next,” Hanji breathes, “you have to let them touch you or you could be taken with them.”

Relief washes over me as I watch my love stroke Gumbie again and nothing happens. Seeing him smile again warms my wind-bitten body and I watch as he says goodbye to Eren and Armin. Both smile through their tears as Jean silently says everything he needs to before he goes and kisses them each in turn on their forehead.

When he stands again, he turns to Levi. “You’d better not kiss me,” Levi grumbles. Jean seems to laugh even though I can’t hear him and between the two of them, they settle with a firm handshake.

Hanji and Jean do their goodbyes by clinging onto each other and laughing. He almost lifts her off her feet as he holds and and gleams as she tells him that he has to be good to his mother when he sees her. He silently laughs again and kisses her cheek.

Our eyes meet once he lets go of her and it feels like I’m falling into a deep, beautiful abyss that carries me like a feather in the wind. His smile fades when he looks at me and silver tears run down his cheek. He rushes to me and places my face in his hands as he trails his soft fingertips over my skin. Now that he’s touching me, I hear him.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._ Breathing heavily through his tears he presses his lips against mine and runs his fingers through my hair, pulling himself as close to me as he can.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” I weep, feeling his soft skin against mine once more.

_No, no, I did this. It was my choice. I had to save you._

“How?” I ask, staring into his warm eyes for comfort.

_To keep The Darkness away there must be a Great Light._ He trembles and closes his eyes, holding back his tears. _When we both died the Great Light was taken too, that’s why Ymir sent us back so we could get it back._

“And did we?” 

He nods. _But one of us still had to die. It was fate._

“I don’t understand.”

Jean holds me tighter. _Marco my powers are in you now. It’s so rare to find someone like you. You have no idea how special you are._

“I still don’t—“

_Only some witches can do it, but they're vessels for The Great Light. That’s_ **_you_ ** _Marco. You're a vessel. That’s why The Darkness wanted you dead. That’s why the shadows left whenever you were around. That’s why when you died my grief forced the light out of me and into you._

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. My words leave me in disbelief. “I… I have your powers,” I murmur.

Jean laughs and caresses my cheek. _Making things right was either to get my powers from you and let you die or leave them with you so I can take your place._

And then all the pieces fall into place. He really did die to save me. He really did lose his powers because they were in me all along.

I have The Great Light inside of me.

_I couldn’t think of a better witch to leave my powers with, Marco. I know you’ll learn so much more about them than I ever could._ His smile fades again as the tears start to escape. Seeing him once more like this and hearing how all the pieces have come together is so bittersweet that I melt into his touch and cry into his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” I bawl. “It should have been me.”

_Because I love you._ I feel his crystallised tears drop onto my cheek and roll down my skin. _The Great Light chose to be with you and I know you’ll be the most incredible witch that ever lived._ With that, he guides my head away from his shoulder to face him. His time is running out. _Now you’ll always have a piece of me with you._

I nod, not wanting him to leave, but knowing that he has to. “I remember how to use them.”

_Good._ He holds my hands gently in his, his touch lingering for as long as he can. _I have to go, my moon and stars._

“I know.”

_You’re my everything._

“And you’re mine.”

For the last time, Jean leans into me and kisses me. It’s a soft, prolonged kiss that warms me to the core as I feel the pressure of his arms around my waist and the softness of his fingers combing through my hair. As we kiss, his touch begins to fade, the burning white light returning. This time, I don’t shy away from it, I force myself into the heat and hold on to every last sensation I can.

When I open my eyes, Jean’s disappeared and the light of the fire has almost died out. Only a few fading embers are left, dancing between the kindle as they say farewell to Jean.

As we stare out into the black, no one says a word. Grief seeps in again and the darkness envelops us in place of the light.

In place of emptiness and sadness, I feel warmth in my stomach that slowly stretches throughout my entire body. It runs through my veins like water through drains and I smile at the feeling, knowing what’s to come next.

I suck in a breath, close my eyes and stretch my fingers. I hold out my hands in front of me and clasp them into some kind of ball shape. I can already feel my fingers twitching. That’s good. Just a little longer. 

“Marco?” Levi starts. “What are you doing?”

My palms become warmer. I can feel it growing between my hands. I want to look, but I know that if I do, it’ll fade. The heat between my palms is surging throughout my body, making me lightheaded and dizzy. 

“Oh my god,” Armin gasps.

Slowly, I open my eyes and stare at the white light escaping through the cracks between my fingers. I unclasp my hands and watch as the ball of white light sitting in my palm radiates. The soft glow reflects off the crystals, creating a kaleidoscope of colour around us.

“The Great Light,” Hanji smiles. “Jean knew you could do it.”

Without thinking, I throw the light up into the air and it hovers in the air, the light still dancing around me, intruding into every crack and shadow. 

“It’s beautiful,” Eren gleams.

I notice Gumbie perched Eren’s shoulder, the light reflecting off his black fur and his cobalt eyes. He looks at me with the same look he always gave Jean.

And so we sit, watching the light above us like a beacon in the moonless sky. It’s presence, a ray of hope at freedom, despite the grief that weighs heavy on our shoulders. But it is in the most darkest of days that we must focus on the light ahead.

* * *

Not a soul speaks as they await either an answer or screams. Deathly silence crawls over the guards’ skin as they stare upon the dark old shop standing before them. The king grips the reigns of his horse in anticipation as he waits and hopes for screams.

Not a single glimmer of light shines through the crevices of the building and not a creak of floorboards is heard. Just like the witch, the building is dead. The only life around it is the king and his men, all glaring at it holding their beacons of fire.

The four guards who went inside proudly come out through the door, graciously bowing as soon as they lay eyes on their king. 

“Well?” the king snaps, looking down at them from his high horse.

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” one of them says sheepishly, looking away from his master. “They’re not in there.”

The king sighs. “How many imbeciles does it take to lose not only a prisoner, but the heir to the throne as well in the same night?”

All four guards stay silent.

“They can’t have gotten far we’ll keep looking until we find them.” The king turns around to face the rest of the guards with him, none wearing the iconic green capes that the public love so much. He glares into the flames being held before him and rage fills his protruding belly. “Burn the place down,” he demands. Then, he and his horse move away from the shop so he can take pleasure in watching the house of sin burn from a better distance.

Upon his order, the guards holding flames disappear into the shop, holding their burning anger to Jean’s books and his furniture. They run upstairs too, burning the bed where Marco and Jean made love that fateful night and smashing all of Jean’s jars of herbs and remedies.

By the time they walk out, the windows become tunnels for turbulent flames that flick like tongues on the windowsills. It reeks of spices and freshly plucked flowers and the scent fills the air as it burns.

The king smiles gleefully as he watches what was once a place of happiness and refuge slowly crumble and turn to dust before his eyes. What he doesn’t notice, is the shadow between the trees, crying silently at the loss of his safe place, the place where the new witch found his freedom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic and would like to see more of my work you can read my second project 'Four The Living' which you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323189/chapters/7263275).
> 
> Next chapter: The End
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


	17. Evermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> evermore  
> /ˌɛvəˈmɔː/  
> adverb  
> 1.  
> (often preceded by for) all time to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, an epilogue ♥

Amongst the trees a wolf howls to the iridescent moon like a sad song on the breeze, followed by a curt “Oh will you shut up, Eren?”

The wolf ignores the vampire and continues to howl, Marco giggles to himself, knowing what will come next. Just as expected, a loud slap echoes through the trees, followed by the whimpers of a cowardly wolf.

Marco shakes his head as he continues to write. He leans over the giant book like an old beggar so he can reach the top of the page. Every now and then, he flicks back through the pages to see how his literacy skills compares to the witches who wrote in this book before him. It has been over two years since he last had a lesson with his tutor back in Jinae.

Hanji had managed to save the sacred book just before the king burnt down the shop with everything inside, and Marco couldn’t be more thankful. It’s another little piece of Jean he can keep with him, especially when he reads it through and sees his scribbles in the margins asking “what the fuck is this?” and “this is bullshit, mugwort is poisonous”.

Now it’s Marco’s turn to write on the battered pages that have survived for so many years. 

When it was presented to him, Marco had no idea what to write. Two years later and he’s only just finished what he wanted to say: The Story of The Witch’s Son.

“What part have you gotten up to?” Petra asks as she appears from upstairs. Marco smiles as he sees her, thankful for her presence every day since she only managed to escape the king’s watchful eye after the others left. 

“My nineteenth birthday,” Marco smiles sadly, staring longingly at the repeated letters J E A N, scattered across the pages.

Petra puts a caring hand on his shoulder and gives him a gentle rub. “Maybe you should take a break?” she suggests. “You’ve been writing all day and have abandoned Armin and I to serve all your customers!”

Marco laughs and puts down his pencil. “I suppose you're right,” he sighs. “I have been selfish by leaving the rest of you to work.”

Just as he gets up from his special stool, Levi storms through the door with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and slams a dead, bleeding rabbit onto the desk, just missing Marco’s book. A thundering expression explodes across the vampire’s face and wipes away the red from his pale skin. “We would have caught more food but Eren wouldn’t stop making noises so this is all we’ve got,” he grumbles. “It was so easy to catch I think its leg must be broken.”

“He’s just excited,” Marco smiles. “Eren’s never shifted into a wolf before it’s a new experience for him.”

“I preferred him as a mouse.”

Before Marco can say a word in Eren’s defence, the aforementioned shapeshifter bounds through the door on his human legs, grinning from ear to ear. “Marco, did you hear me?” he beams. “I was howling, it felt incredible.”

“Yes he heard you and so did all the rabbits,” Levi murmurs, picking up the single carcass and taking it into the kitchen to prepare it for supper.

Eren shrugs off Levi’s comment almost as soon as it was spoken and quickly runs upstairs to put some clothes on.

Once he’s left alone after Petra hears Armin call for help in the main shop, Marco goes back to feeling the pages of his book, feeling at ease under the warm glow of the candles surrounding the room.

It’s not quite the back room in the old shop, but it’s Marco’s own place to be free. Although he may fill this house with those he cares about, there will always be empty spaces. Such as Reiner and Bertholdt who, after the rebellion against the king, fled from Jinae to Shiganshina.

As the king’s son is presumed dead, and with no other children to take over, the public placed Duke Erwin of Trost, the king’s brother, on the throne. Although a little too far away to experience his rule, Hanji often comes back from her travels telling stories of flourishing trade and smiling faces wherever she goes.

And then there’s Jean.

It’s been two years since his execution and Marco still remembers the moment he watched me die like it only happened a moment ago. But deep down he likes to think that Jean’s proud of him. He made it Stohess like he promised, after all. Now Stohess has their own witch and they couldn't be more appreciative, often coming into Marco’s shop to find many smiling faces beaming back at them, answering to their every need.

Armin and Petra usually take care of the shop itself whilst Marco takes care of any illnesses in the town centre itself and spends his time creating concoctions for his customers. Hanji still travels around the kingdom helping anyone she can, but often comes back for a few days at a time to check in on everyone. Then, Eren and Levi enjoy hunting for food in the forest by the shop and also take the time to patrol the area just in case any mythical pains in the ass decided to follow the scent of the witch.

They're happy and Marco doesn't feel as empty as he used to.

But he still misses his love more and more every day and spends hours every day going through anything that will remind him of his light’s presence.

Marco puts his hand to his chest and feels the raised bump under his tunic, still there, not moved since the day he got it. He pulls his necklace out from beneath his clothes. He runs his thumb over the engraved symbol and squeezes it tight, thinking how maybe Jean could have used this protection amulet more than he did.

“Don’t dwell on things in the past.”

The voice makes Marco and he almost falls off his stool, clinging to his desk before he hits the floor and pulls himself up. “Who’s there?” he asks breathlessly. “We’re closed.”

A familiar winged shadow moves out from behind a bookcase near the back of the room and moves forwards, the light of the room slowly making the being’s features clearer. Ymir’s deep eyes and dark expression comes into full view and she stands proudly in front of Marco, smiling smugly. “I don’t need your witchcraft,” she says, her eyes flicking around the shop. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Taking inspiration from Jean and making it your own, I see.”

“Why are you here?” Marco asks curiously, making sure not to sound as if he doesn't want her here. He always has time for Ymir.

“We made a deal, didn’t we?” she says, her smug smile growing bigger.

“What de-… oh.”

Ymir shrugs, her wings moving in sync with her shoulders. “I’m keeping my promise. I said two years and now you can have your end of the deal.”

“And what about?” Marco says cautiously, remembering his exact words to her that day in the In Between: she could have anything she wants. “What do you want from me?”

“I already have it,” she smiles. “I wanted your soul after you died so I myself could take you into another life… but I got Jean’s instead. I’d say that’s a fair swap, wouldn’t you?”

Marco’s heart starts racing, imagining the worst as to where Jean may be. The thought of Jean’s soul going to Hell made his stomach churn. From all the stories he'd been told from a child, the very thought of Hell made Marco’s body tremble. To think if Jean’s soul was there, being tortured for all eternity… “Where is he?” Marco snaps. “Is he alright?”

Ymir raises her hands in surrender. “Yes, yes, yes — he’s fine and very happy,” she assures. “I go see him every now and then and he watches you all the time.” Marco can’t help but smile. “He’s proud of you.”

Marco’s body stops trembling at the thought of Jean watching over him as if he'd never left and feels his back become warm. “Can’t I see him?” Marco asks.

Ymir shakes her head. “Not until the day I take you there myself. And I promise I will.”

Sadly, Marco nods, although he already knew what her answer would be. But the promise of one day seeing Jean again fills him with some hope he didn't have before. 

“Call your friends in here and wait,” Ymir orders, beginning to back away into the dark. “I’ll see you around, witch.”

As Marco waves goodbye, Ymir disappears in a rush of feathers and once again, he is alone. He smiles as he thinks of the look on his friends’ faces in just a matter of moments. Taking a deep breath, he calls out to the entire household. “I need a house meeting!” Then, he waits for the rush of footsteps. As expected, they come, quicker than he thought.

Eren is the first into the room, looking drowsy after his long day of hunting and is soon followed by Armin, holding a handful of crystals in his arms. Petra and Levi come in too, looking curious to find out the reason of their summoning. 

“What is it?” Levi asks, suddenly growing worried, fearing the worst. “Have you seen something?”

“Have you blown something up by accident again?” Armin chuckles, holding his hand to his mouth as his giggles turn to guffaws.

Marco shakes his head. “No, I have a surprise.”

Eren’s eyes grow wide. “What is it?”

“We have someone new coming to stay here with us.”

“Who the hell…” Eren starts, but trails off as the back door slowly opens, letting the cool night air into the room, almost blowing the candles out. Eren’s facial expressions go through an array of emotions as the figure in the doorway comes into the room. From shock, to happiness, to denial and then complete and utter disbelief.

Armin drops the crystals to the floor when he sees her, his jaw going slack.

Although Levi and Petra don’t know her, they still watch transfixed as a beautiful girl with raven black hair and deep grey eyes with a crimson scarf wrapped tightly around her neck walks into the room.

“Mikasa?” Eren says so hushed that if you weren’t listening you may have missed it.

The girl unfurls the scarf from covering her face so that her petite pink lips come into view. When she makes eye contact with her brother, Mikasa smiles with a beaming glow around her and tears in her eyes.

“Mikasa!” Eren shouts and he runs to her, flinging his arms around her neck and kissing her forehead repeatedly and ferociously. Armin, not taking notice of the mess he’s made, runs over too, holding his friend’s hands as she answers Eren’s constant string of ridiculous and breathless questions. 

Petra looks at Marco quizzically and turns to see if Levi has any answers. When he merely replies with an unknowing shrug, Petra shakes her head at me, full of questions.

Leaving Mikasa, Eren and Armin to their reunion, Marco begins to leave the joyful atmosphere of the back room, making eye contact with Mikasa for enough time to see her nod in thanks to the stranger that brought her back from an eternity in the In Between to be with her brother again.

Petra and Levi let Marco leave without asking any questions, and he leaves behind the joyous tears and gasps of happiness, ceasing the noise when he closes the front door behind him.

The lake looks beautiful tonight. Like a deep royal blue sheet of billowing silk, it reflects the opalescent light of the moon on its crystallised surface, making it look like diamonds shining on the water. Staring wistfully at the water, Marco walks down the slope leading to the edge of the lake and finds his favourite spot to sit, where he’s sure he’s made a dent by now.

Marco lies back in the rich grass and stares outwards into the deep night and shimmering water that seems to go on forever. He looks up at the moon and smiles, wondering if that’s where Jean is and if he’s looking down on him right now.

“Did I do well, Jean?” he asks the moon. “Do you still think I’ll be the most incredible witch that ever lived?”

_Of course I do._ Jeans smiles and sits down next to Marco, hoping that although he may not see him, he can still feel him. _You become more incredible every day._

Keeping his promise, as he has done since the day Marco arrived in Stohess, Jean intwines his fingers with Marco’s, stroking his skin gently and looks at his light as the moon shines down on his perfect constellation skin.

And so the two souls sit, bathing under the moonlight together, holding hands by the lake… just like they promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so an era has come to an end.   
> I want to just simply thank all of you for keeping with me through all of this and for supporting me so much. This has been an incredible experience and I've been really humbled by some of the comments I've recieved from you. I'd also like to thank everyone who's done fanart for me, it really means a lot.
> 
> Thank you,  
> Levi
> 
>  
> 
> If there's anything that you want me to see to do with this fic, then just drop it into the tags 'fic: the witch's son' or 'livsws' and I'll definitely go check it out.
> 
> If you liked this fic then please check out [my other one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323189/chapters/7263275)
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://livsws.tumblr.com/) and also a [twitter](https://twitter.com/livsws)
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated ♥


End file.
